Dark Ritual
by Clariana
Summary: Alistair and Neriya find that it is one thing to fight a war, quite another to reign in peace, especially when the consequences of a single shameful act cast a permanent shadow over their lives and deeds.
1. Chapter 1

**Introduction: A Note on Time**

There are basically three time streams in Dark Ritual which I think are best described as the past, the recent past and the present. The simplest dividing lines between them are the Slaying of the Archdemon which took place in the twelfth month or Cassus/Haring of DA (Dragon Age) 9:31 and the fourth month or Eluviesta/Cloudreach DA 9:33 when Neriya returns to Denerim after leaving it for the first time.

Anything happening prior to the slaying of the Archdemon is the past, anything happening between the Slaying and Neriya returning to Denerim is the recent past and events happening thereafter are the present.

My big book on Dragon Age says that there are twelve months in the Fereldan Calendar, each month has thirty days and a High Name used by the Chantry and scholars (who tend to belong to the Chantry, anyway) and a Low Name used by the general population. They are:

Month High Name Low Name

1st Verimensis Wintermarch

2nd Pluitanis Guardian

3rd Nubulis Drakonis

4th Eluviesta Cloudreach

5th Molioris Bloomingtide

6th Ferventis Justinian

7th Solis Solace

8th Matrinalis August

9th Parvulis Kingsway

10th Frumentum Harvestmere

11th Umbralis Firstfall

12th Cassus Haring

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Dragon 9:34 Eluvista/Cloudreach

_Brecilian Forest_

The deputy sub steward of the royal household in Denerim could not understand why the King had decided to travel to the Brecilian forest at that time of year. By all accounts he was a sensible man and usually well-informed, did he not know that it was almost a full two months before the grouse season? Of course, the forest was full of halla but even the deputy sub steward was now aware that diplomatic niceties vis-à-vis the Dalish elves would not permit a hunt of halla, even if there were a desperate need for a cull. Then there was fishing, but again that was better in the salmon spawning season... As for rabbits, there were always rabbits but then rabbits, like rats, could be found everywhere and anywhere, hardly necessitating a full-blown expedition to the far off forest...

If the deputy sub steward were to be fully honest with himself what most aggravated him was that the King's sortie was that his wife was just beginning to recover from the birth of their third child and he had hoped that they would be in a position to resume marital relations within the next few weeks. The King's unexpected little excursion and the preparations for it, Maker bless his socks, put paid to that.

As he had anticipated the first day after their arrival was pure boredom but hard work with all the setting up of the temporary household. The ground was still frozen even though it was spring and it took some time to pitch tents and set up fires and turn a bare piece of earth by a stream into something resembling an encampment.

The second day was a little more entertaining, at the beginning, at least. The deputy sub steward, for some reason he was unable to fathom, was invited along to the King's delegation to the Dalish elven settlement.

The King was in his hunting apparel, a rather fetching shade of green, that clung lightly to his good muscular figure, and went quite well with his short cropped blond hair and light hazel eyes rather than in his royal robes, officially greeted the lady Lanaya the current Keeper of the settlement.

She was actually rather attractive, for an elf, that was, thought the deputy sub steward. Although slight in height, she seemed somewhat more solidly build than most elven females with wider hips. Her face was rounder and she even appeared to have dimples. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, her skin as pale as milk, even her facial markings were becoming, emphasizing her fetching, smooth features rather than crowding them.

The King began by making a little speech. He read it very carefully from a small piece of vellum he drew from the sleeve of his tunic. This was strange for the King who was, for the most part, an off the cuff, impulsive, orator, and all the better for it, too. However, this speech was in what the deputy sub steward assumed was Dalish, this impressed him greatly. From what he was told later, the deputy sub steward understood that it was something about how in the new Ferelden all the different nations were to work together in peace and harmony and how this was make everyone stronger and more prosperous. The King had pronounced variants of this same speech everywhere he went for about the last two years.

The deputy sub steward who had not a little training in the obscure art of customer service, also took the opportunity to observe the response of the half dozen or so of Dalish dignitaries present at this speech. They all appeared to be working very hard to remain hieratic and coolly disaffected but his reading of the slight fluctuations in their body language indicated that they too, were impressed.

Once he had finished Keeper Lanaya, or whatever her official title was, leaned towards the King and said in perfect Fereldan:

"Alistair, as always, welcome..."

They then exchanged ceremonial kisses, or at least he assumed they were ceremonial. The King apparently took this opportunity to whisper something in her delicately pointed ear. The deputy sub steward would later swear that he saw a sudden blush creep into her cheeks in reply.

There followed an exchange of gifts. These, the Deputy sub steward knew more about these because he had been directly involved in their procurement. "Dwarven crafts and goods for the elves, and elven crafts and goods for the dwarves. And some of our own stuff, whatever that is, thrown in", the King had pronounced. So the household stewards had scoured the local markets for dwarven goods and used the Denerim palace commercial grapevine to suggest to any dwarven merchants about the area that now might be a good time to visit the capital.

Several mornings were thus spent with the King reviewing the goods preselected by the stewards. It was the King himself who had chosen the diamond pendent. A single diamond, translucent, white, exquisitely cut, with just a hint of pale blue throughout, on a plain, silverite, chain. The deputy sub steward recalled distinctly the King holding it up to the light from the windows in the high hall and nodding approvingly to the Head Steward as it glittered in his hand seeming to illuminate all of itself what was until then a gloomy Denerim day.

After he had handed over the other gifts, the King produced this one, holding it up to the light as he had done in the great hall. The expression on Keeper Lanaya's face was difficult to read but the deputy sub steward thought the emotion it most closely expressed was sheer astonishment. After a few moments she mumbled something to the King and turned around. The King gently lowered the pendent over her head and clasped it at the nape of her neck, taking good care, it seemed, not to touch her.

Then there was a picnic or some sort of feast outdoors. The food was too herby and did not have enough salt. The cheese, however, was excellent and he overheard the King say as much to Keeper Lanaya. She seemed pleased and flushed again, the jewel shining at her breast. Dalish ale, on the other hand, was far too weak, and did not compliment the cheese well. The deputy sub steward noted he much preferred the dwarven brews. But he soon found himself reaching for more of the feeble ale when the poetry recitals and the detailed narration of intricate elven legends and lore began. And never seemed to end.

Eventually after a few hours, even the King, who had been provided with an interpreter and who earlier appeared to listen with some enthusiasm, began to look bored and visibly drooped at the end of the table. By then evening had began to fall, the deputy sub steward together with others in the royal retinue and some delegated elves lit torches and proceeded to escort the King back to his camp.

Then it began to rain. The party members' heavy warm clothing became after little more than half an hour a freezing, water-saturated mess. The King impatiently removed his woollen cloak, shoved it into the arms of his knight escort, Ser Lawler, took a torch, and picking up the pace began heading towards camp splashing through the fresh mud at a lively trot that his retinue tried, with the exception of Lawler, mostly in vain, to match.

* * *

The rain cleared up over night and dawn came fresh and sunny. The King woke up rather late and said he wanted to try his hand at fishing. The problem was that although some primitive fishing rods had been packed, there was no-one at camp who had more than a rudimentary knowledge of fishing.

Lawler picked what he thought would be a likely spot and he and the King and several others having baited their hooks with dried bread, did their best to cast off. "Now what?" asked the King.

"It is my understanding that now we wait."

"But for how long?"

Lawler shrugged. So they waited for about an hour and then decided to cast off again. After about twenty minutes more, the King asked to be brought some books, buried the rod in the river bank and began reading reclining against a tree trunk testily telling Lawler that if the fish wouldn't do the courtesy to bite he didn't feel he should do them courtesy of waiting for them to.

There was some fuss when one of the knights felt a tug on his rod and managed to hoist a fish out of the water but the fish was so small that it would hardly satisfy a kitten.

At that point the King said he was fed up and headed back to camp for an early lunch.

* * *

That afternoon the King sent word around camp that instead of training as he usually did with Lawler, he would pay a bounty of 20 sovereigns to any one who could beat him in a fight.

This was the first time since coming to the throne a little over two years ago that the King had made an offer of this kind. Many of the knights knew very little of him personally, he seemed more given to mingling with the commoners, and even elves, dwarves and mages rather than with the aristocracy, but then most of them in turn spent most of their time sequestered in their estates, far from Denerim. It was probably because of this that many of the knights who took him up on his offer expressed their dissatisfaction within Lawler's hearing when it became clear that the rounds were to be undertaken with wooden swords and shields. Lawler simply limited himself to a wolfish grin in response.

In any event for the gentlemen concerned it turned into a rout, a rather humiliating rout. None of them had grasped until that afternoon just how much of a brawler their new king was. But he soon showed them. As well as good body strength, some relative speed and an undeniable talent with a shield and sword he also deployed insults, street fighting and what they considered to be general loutish behaviour to devastating effect.

As the King pointed out later that evening over more than a few casks of wine, high dragons, darkspawn, maleficari, abominations, summons, bandits, assassins, thugs or even Lawler, understood nothing of etiquette, civility or fair play when it came to fighting: "They just want to take you down, so you bloody well better take them down first and do it fast" he concluded.

Someone mildly pointed out that darkspawn etc had no verbal skills and therefore didn't care that you had just called their granny *uh-hum* a whore or their father a vagrant. The King explained that it was all a matter of tone of voice and posture.

The only one of their number who managed to come out of it with any dignity whatsoever was Oswyn, one of the sons of Bann Sighard of Dragon's Peak. It was rumoured that at some point prior to the end of the Blight he had been held captive by Bann Howe (yes, that Howe) and tortured. In any event he had not been able to walk properly since being freed from the dungeon, although it seemed he had done a lot of work on his upper body strength and overall agility since. The King had offered to take a handicap for their bout but Oswyn had refused. There had ensued a very heated and rapid exchange of blows with both shield and sword as the King attempted to get through Oswyn's guard and Oswyn sought no less vehemently to deny him. Eventually the King had prevailed though he acknowledged that it had been a close run thing and asked that evening for a toast to Oswyn, who had blushed rather fiercely, when this had readily been forthcoming.

* * *

On the fourth day the King decided to go for a run after breakfast, initially it seemed he planned only to take his mabaris, Mince and Meat and his knight escort. Several more of the gentlemen expressed an interest and in due course he was prevailed upon to set out with a small party. The deputy sub steward was much relieved that he wouldn't have to service their amusement for at least half a day, anticipating that they would be out for a few hours, withdrew to his tent for a well-deserved mid-morning nap.

He was wakened around midday by a hubbub that indicated the party's return. The King, zipped through the middle of camp with Mince and Meat at his heels, equally excited, yelling that the last man into the stream would be a smelly genlock, whatever, that was.

He was peeling off his clothing as he went and the deputy sub steward who was still feeling a little groggy, despondently began to collect them following in his wake. When he got to the edge of the stream completely naked, he jumped in. Mince and Meat, far more sensible they, stood on the bank growling.

In twenty minutes there were half a dozen rowdy, naked, men cavorting in the icy stream. Of the men only Lawler refused to get in, standing fully dressed by Mince and Meat, the King appeared to be berating him, calling him a coward and saying something about his tiny dick looking even smaller. Lawler was responding indignantly calling the King (!), an arrant fool and saying that he couldn't very well defend him in the brook could he? Someone, probably in revenge for a humiliation sustained the day before, put paid to the argument by dunking the King from behind.

At that point one of the camp boys, the infant son of one of the washerwomen, came up to the deputy sub steward from behind and desperately started tugging at his sleeve. "What is it, lad?" said the deputy sub steward but the child just stared up at him apparently mute with despair.

Too late, the deputy sub steward turned round and saw Keeper Lanaya and several of her courtiers in very colourful garb advancing on them rapidly.

The deputy sub steward would later blame his slowness to react on the fact that he had not yet fully recovered from his nap. Of course, the fact that he still had his arms full with the King's sweaty belongings did not assist.

The result was that Lanaya, and her company sailed past before he could barely get a word out of his mouth. She then stopped dead.

"Alistair… What are you doing in the river?"

"Keeper… How wonderful to see you… And you've brought all your gentle ladies too…"

The King approached the river bank a few paces careful to ensure that the water depth still covered his modesty. Lanaya bent politely towards him.

"You're going to have to give me a moment here…" he muttered.

"Of course."

Keeper Lanaya made a subtle signal to her ladies and they withdrew from the edge of the stream. One of them apparently made some remark and suddenly the air was full of quiet laughter. It was quite unlike human laughter, less harsh and raucous, more like a fluttering breeze through fresh spring leaves. Quite delightful to hear.

But the deputy sub steward could not dwell for long on that and rushed to the King's tent, dumping the clothes on a table. He ran out, and started to issue orders: "Cordial, biscuits, chairs for the ladies. And bring some bloody towels, big ones!"

* * *

It was not until the morning of the fifth day that something of note happened. About half an hour after dawn when the shadows of the forest and hoarfrost still lay thick upon the ground and when the deputy sub steward had just began his morning round to ensure that the braziers were lit and breakfast porridge was being prepared.

A deep sound suddenly permeated the valley, shattering the dawn silence and the feeble birdsong. It was something similar to a hunting horn of the lowing of cattle, possibly the halla in rut? But no, it was much more modulated and controlled. As he turned stunned from the valley to encampment the deputy sub steward saw lights suddenly being kindled in every tent. Following that sound the dawn seemed to attain a greater stillness than just before and the deputy sub steward had barely began to convince himself that he had not heard what he had heard, that it had been some kind of auditory hallucination when the sound resonated again.

King Alistair had always be been an early riser so it was no surprise when he burst out of his tent wearing his nightclothes under the same woollen cape he had discarded in the downpour a few days before and that the deputy sub steward had taken care to ensure had been thoroughly dried without it shrinking. He stood in the middle of the clearing in his slippers facing towards the woods as if waiting for something. The second wave of sound did not appear to perturb or surprise him. Ser Lawler now stood quietly at his right shoulder.

More silence and then a final burst of sound and there was a sudden movement from the woods. Too near not to have been seen before, something broke forth in a blur from the still darkened tree line. Even the king took a step back.

Two shapes. A knight on a horse in full armour including visor and a smaller, hooded, form sitting side saddle on something resembling an ass or a donkey, almost huddled against the knight.

Insofar as the deputy sub steward could make out in the poor light, the knight's armour was blotched in a diversity of drab colours grey, brown but above all green with no discernible pattern. His helmet was horned, like a chasind helm, and in one hand he held a heavy, dull sword. The other figure remained bunched up beside him, enveloped in a dark cape. The knight opened his arms holding the sword aloft.

"What do you want?" The King had spoken and he sounded both unimpressed and impatient, with the slightest edge of a threat. Suddenly the deputy head steward realized the clearing was full of armed soldiers forming a protective arc around the King.

"I bring a gift" the voice was deep and unnatural.

"A gift?" The King looked surprised: "What gift would you bring a king at this hour of the morning?"

"A gift more precious than his life"

The knight then leaned towards the other figure and seemed to speak to her. A her. The deputy sub steward saw a pale face and a blond plait fell in front of it from the hood, something in the sharp features told him she was an elf but not one of the ones from around here, there were no tattoos on her face. A city elf, then.

She passed the strange knight a bundle that she held tightly in her arms. The knight took it then quietly held it up in front of him. Bowed his head towards it and seemed to whisper something. He passed the bundle back to the female elf and looked at the King.

"Approach. Alone"

"If this is some kind of trick..."

"This is no trick, Ser" the deep voice dripped with contempt.

The King took two steps forward. Lawler followed him. The King turned around and said a few words. Shaking his head the knight escort stepped back. The King walked towards the mounted figures until he stood in front of them. It was too strong to say he swaggered but there was some sort of boldness to his steps.

Very quickly the female elf slipped from her saddle and walked towards the King gently handing him the bundle. The deputy sub steward estimated that she was a good 50 cm shorter than the King.

The King looked down at the bundle and looked up again quickly, stunned, all confidence melting away from his demeanour.

Then things happened very fast. The pair reeled around their mounts to leave. Lawler moved very quickly and stood once again at the King's shoulder. The King handed him the bundle and started to run behind the pair. The Knight Escort in turn looked shocked. The King started shouting. The soldiers seemed too surprised to react.

"Zev, it's Zev, isn't it? Where by the darkspawn is she, where is she?"

The strange knight turned around in his saddle:

"I know you not…"

But by this time the King had almost caught up with him and was grabbing for his foot in the stirrup.

"There is a note. Read it…"

The soldiers at last came to life. The deputy head steward over the din of weaponry and twenty soldiers arming would later say that he heard the knight say to the King, in a much gentler tone than before:

"… No less is expected of you, Alistair"

The King's hands fell to his side:

"And I shall do no less."

The King then turned on his heels and headed towards Lawler who was still standing transfixed on the spot. He made a shooing motion for the soldiers to withdraw. He held out his hands and the Knight Escort passed him the bundle wordlessly and walked ahead of him as was his wont to ensure the way was clear. The King pulled the bundle close to his chest and began to stride towards his tent in Lawler's wake. As he passed, the deputy sub steward could swear that his eyes were red and his cheeks were wet. Just before entering his tent, the King did a sudden about turn.

"You" he said to the deputy sub steward "Eoin, isn't it?"

"Yes, sire" said the deputy sub steward trying his best to recall how to bow and settling for a simple nod. A strange snuffling sound came from the bundle the King still clasped to his chest. By instinct, it seemed, the King used his free hand to gently pat it.

"Those horses"

"Yes, sire"

"I want a dozen. In Denerim. Six months. Give you time to settle with your wife and new child, I guess, though eventually, you'll have to travel. Do so. Spare no expense."

And he turned again and went abruptly into his tent with his Knight Escort hot on his heels.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

DA 9:33

Eluviesta/Cloudreach

Denerim

The daily bustle of Denerim market place never seemed to change, neither did the sounds, nor the smells, although it was a hot day today, for spring so the aromas of animals dead and alive, fish, fruit, vegetables, leather, spices, perfumes and simple humans, elves and dwarves, were more pungent than usual.

"I am more pungent that usual", she thought, and, immediately after that: "My feet hurt…"

It was the hurting feet that finally determined the question so she quickened her pace towards the great gates of the palace. Of course, she hadn't expected it to be easy but… The guard with the ill-fitting helmet looked down at her. She was glad so see that there was an unsightly cluster of pimples across his forehead, so she decided to concentrate on them rather than meet his eyes, which didn't seem to have much behind them.

"So you want to see the King…" He said as if she were the slow one rather than he.

"Yes, I do."

"So would I. And my granny would, too. She thinks he's great."

"Yes, but, and, with all due respect to you and your granny, he would want to see me. And he might not like your talking to me like this…"

"Try this for size, then" Said the juvenile: "Buzz off elf back to your alienage."

"As I explained to you, I am a mage, I do not live in an alienage and I never have…"

"The piss off back to your bloody tower…"

Another guard sauntered over: "Is there a problem here?"

"Not at all" Said Neriya: "I was just about to dispatch your boy baby-face here to a permanent vacation in the fade with his nappy around his ankles, you might care to join him…"

The second guard opened his mouth, and made to reach for his sword, when a voice called over: "Stop! Stop whatever you were about to do, Danvers, Travis, stop it _now_! Let me deal with her…!" A middle aged man with short greying hair ran quickly over.

"Captain Kaylon…"

He did a double-take: "Councillor Surana. My apologies, I was at lunch..."

"I am happy to see you…"

"Travis, go fetch the chamberlain. Say I sent you we have an important visitor here. And you Danvers, what did I tell you just yesterday?"

Baby face's eyes went even blanker: "I am to be polite and accommodating to all potential visitors…"

"Good. Glad you really took that on board. Let me add further to your vast store of knowledge then… See that shiny, twinkly stick she has on her back there?"

"Yes captain."

"Well, it could either blast you straight into the never, never, before you could even say: "Holy flaming Andraste!", turn you into an interesting ornamental ice monument or give you a very, very nasty rash…You do not argue with the stick, got it? _Or_ with the person carrying the stick"

Baby face nodded. A smartly dressed dwarf with a neat beard appeared with Travis. Captain Kaylon went up to him and whispered a few words. The dwarf's grey eyes flitted to Neriya, he smiled, bowed, and held out his hand for her to shake. "Chamberlain Crabbe" he said.

"Neriya" As she followed him up the steps she heard baby face whine: "But how was I to know that the hero of Ferelden was an _elf_!"

Crabbe, who obviously had also heard, shook his head and said in a very smooth deep voice: "I really don't know what they teach these humans at school today".

* * *

Neriya had fallen asleep by the time the chamberlain came to summon her. He had shown her to an alcove with individual marble seats with little red cushions. He had asked her for her staff which she had meekly handed over, assuring her she would get it back later. He offered to send a message to the King straightaway but on hearing he had an audience, she had declined and said would wait until it was over. He'd offered her some refreshments but she had refused, she didn't quite know why. She asked him not to announce her.

It was early afternoon when she Crabbe showed her into a small unfamiliar room with a grey tiled floor and a large fur mat placed in the middle of it, just in front of a dais. On the other side of the door, to the left, was another person. Definitely not a domestic servant, he was a young, human male, lean and alert with long lank, black hair and eyed her suspiciously.

Alistair was sitting on what appeared to be a comfortable chair on a dais two steps up, there was a window behind him that gave out onto the central courtyard. He was looking down. He seemed to be reading something. She thought it inappropriate to remain standing so she sunk to her knees while he finished, the mat was more comfortable than the marble bench after all. Then he looked up with a slightly interrogative look that froze when he saw her. There was a long silence.

"Umm…" Then he cleared his throat. "I will see this lady in my private chamber"

While Crabbe barely reacted, the young man well nigh jumped to attention. Alistair waved him down: "It's alright, Lawler, I know her we go back"

He stood and extended his hand to her: "Neriya, come."

She stood in turn and took his hand and climbed the two steps and he led her towards a door on the right that was invisible from below the dais. They entered an even smaller room with a tiled floor, a mat, this time woven, a small table, two chairs and a fireplace.

No sooner had the door closed behind them, he abruptly pushed her against the wall: "Where the hell…"

Suddenly the air around them sizzled. Alistair released her and jumped back as if he had been stung: "I forgot you could do that." he said morosely rubbing his arms. There was a pause: "But let me continue with what I was saying, where the hell have you been all this time?" Not quite shouting but almost.

"Here and there." She said calmly.

He pulled out one of the chairs from beneath the table and straddled it, glowering at her. She sunk down gratefully into the other and propped her face on her hands. Quite abruptly the room seemed even tinier than it actually was.

"And what's that supposed to mean? Why did you send no news? For more than a year? I thought something had happened to you, that I would never see you again…"

"Alistair, you had me followed."

"And so? I was worried."

"I did not take kindly to that."

"Oh, and what would have me do? In any event he only trailed you for about three weeks and then suddenly, for some, _very mysterious_ reason, he got spooked and returned to Denerim with his tail between his legs. Since then: Nothing, nothing until now."

Neriya sighed. "I needed space."

"You had space: Here"

"I needed to get away from here. From Denerim, from the court..."

"And from me, obviously."

"It had nothing to do with you… Or not very much, anyway. I just needed some time to reflect after all that… All that had happened, everything we did…"

To his credit he was silent for a while as if fully taking that in, filling in the gaps. "But I… Care for you. You could at least have sent some word."

"I know this, but had I sent word, I suspect the space I needed would have come to an end pretty quickly, so I didn't."

Alistair looked moodily at the floor.

"And how are you?" she asked, to break the ice or his mood.

"Well enough."

"Yourself?"

"I keep well."

He looked her over suspiciously. "Maker, tell me those markings on your hands are not permanent…"

"They are tattoos." She said unable to keep a touch of pride from her voice.

"On your hands?"

"Yes."

He ran one of his own hands over his forehead and then through his short blond hair, as if attempting to take this in. "Why would you do such a thing to your pretty hands?" and then "What do they mean?"

"Nothing of great import."

It was his turn to sigh. "Will you tell me anything at all so I can make sense of this?"

"I will try... But it's a lot to cover all at once. I just needed... Alistair, I am sorry to trouble you, but I am a little hungry."

He shot her another look, one of those looks who people who did not know Alistair as well as she did would not believe was within his repertoire. She first became aware of that look just before the beginning of one of their early battles with the darkspawn, when she herself hardly knew him. In time she learnt that it was the look, full of calculation, he would direct at, whoever (or whatever) he believed to be the most powerful adversary on a populated field. The one he really, really, wanted to take down quickly. He was effectively carrying out a speedy appraisal of possible weak points. She could see from the set of his jaw that he was not happy with what he thought he had perceived in her appearance.

"How could I be so rude? Wait here while I make some arrangements."

Alistair strode towards the other door and opened it. Lawler who was now standing outside leaned in and there was a murmured conversation between him and Alistair. Lawler glanced at her once, a quick flash of dark eyes, and quickly departed. Alistair closed the door behind him and straddled the chair opposite her once again and looked at her. "Can I touch you now?"

"Of course you can."

He leaned over and gently ran the very tips of his fingers across the sweep of her jaw hardly grazing her skin. He then plucked a few stray wisps of her white hair and tucked them carefully behind her pointed ear.

"If you're going to attempt to tidy my hair like that, a strand at a time, I warn you it will take you a lifetime…"

He smiled, then he looked serious and then as if he could contain himself no longer, he blurted out: "Is there anybody else? I mean, I would understand… Or try to, anyway, after I had run him through."

"Now, that would hardly be reasonable would it? I hope you're joking. No. No-one else."

He looked relieved but before he could say anything further there was a knock on the door and another brief exchange between him and Lawler. "Food will be about twenty minutes, by the way."

"The reason I came to see you was…"

"Well?"

"Because I wanted to see you…"

Something subtly altered in his manner, it was as if the room had become less crowded.

He said very slowly as if afraid of missing something: "So you came to see me because you wanted to see me and there is no-one else."

"Yes"

"Do you still... care for me?"

"I do."

"Would you want to lie with me after dinner?"

Neriya shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "That's a bit fast. I think I need to clean up first… and..."

"Nonsense. I want you just as you are. Fresh from the road."

"I can see you find that appealing…"

"Don't you remember how things were between us? How we would race back to camp after battle, rush into one of our tents, fall on the narrow camp bed and make love as soon as we could peel my armour off or sometimes even before that?"

"Yes but then we were both…"

"Sweaty, bloody and covered in gore?" He said with some relish.

Neriya had a sudden flashback, yes there were numerous occasions when they had been intimate with each other just as he had described but there were other memories from that period far less agreeable.

In particular she recalled herself screaming hysterically "Please someone do something, please, please, please…" when Alistair had suddenly started bleeding uncontrollably from his mouth as they were kissing, the blood soaking her blouse as he had slumped heavily against her shoulder. She did not know whether it was panic or something else but the moment she started screaming the air surrounding her had seemed to warm up and roil in bloodied waves around them both.

She doubted Alistair remembered anything much about the bleed, or perhaps anything about it at all. In fact, she now recalled, he had had a slightly woozy, distracted, air about him for all of that evening, and most probably since the wound that caused the bleed had been inflicted earlier on in the day. For her, on the other hand, it had been a turning point of sorts.

And then there were other days and weeks when he could not bear to have her touch him because his body had taken such a beating, if they could muster the energy, they would lie opposite sides of the bed describing what they would do to each other and with each other once he had recovered. Uncountable times when he had simply collapsed next to her through sheer fatigue. Bruises, cuts, tears, bone breaks, sprains, scars… she was the mage he the warrior, and a melee brawler at that, the party member who took most punishment, although she often did not escape unscathed herself.

"I was going to say younger. Uh, you have an inconveniently selective memory…"

"Of course, and, thanks to you, it's all I've had for more than a whole year to amuse myself with. Just my memory" There was a discreet knock on the door. "Ah that must be the food"

He was passed several things through the door and set them out in front of her himself, a bowl of stew, a bread roll, a platter of fruit, cutlery, a napkin, cutlery and a bottle of wine with two cups.

"Aren't you having anything?"

"I ate a few hours ago, but I'll share the wine." He poured some of the red in both their cups.

She took a few mouthfuls of the stew "This is good."

"And there I was thinking that you'd miss my cooking."

"Alistair, if there is one thing I would never miss about you, that would be your cooking. It was foul. You were such an appalling cook that in camp you have the rest of us convinced that you were ruining the meals on purpose so as to avoid your next turn at the pot."

"What, me? Never. Here, have some wine" He pushed the wine cup towards her.

"You know full well that you don't have to get me drunk to get me into bed with you."

"I know, but sometimes it's more fun, especially when we're both drunk. Talking of which…" He went towards the door. Further muttering with Lawler ensued. Then he returned once again and sat opposite her. There was about five minutes silence while she ate alternating a spoonful of stew with a bite of bread, he watched very attentively, sipping from his own cup every now and then. She finished the stew and set about peeling one of the apples.

"Can I have some?"

Without asking she knew exactly what he meant. She pared a peeled slice off with the knife and held it out for him between her thumb and forefinger. He caught it gently with his mouth.

"Old habits die hard, don't they?" she said.

"The good ones shouldn't die at all."

Two apples were consumed in that way and then eight strawberries which they dipped in wine before feeding to each other.

As she offered him the last berry he caught her wrist and, as she dropped the stalk, began to lay heavy wet kisses on her palm and on her fingers. She shuddered.

When she was with him like this in such an intimate way it always felt as if there were a sort of change or transformation taking form inside her very gradually. As if she were moving slowly but inexorably from one state or way of being towards another, as if she could not be with him as she was but had to become someone or something else in order to engage so closely with him. It was not an emotional change. Her emotions were intact, unimpaired. It felt as though it were organic, almost physical. And it did not seem to affect him at all, he seemed blithely unaware. She really did not wish to dwell on it just now, she was happy with the moment as it presented itself but, she told herself, it was really something that she needed to address, and sooner rather than later, to meditate upon when she was alone.

He waved his hand in front of her eyes. "Where do you go when you daydream like that? What are you thinking?"

"The fade, probably…"

"Really?" He seemed fascinated.

"No, not really. I am probably tired…"

"Well, perhaps you should sleep, then… I can put my plans on hold. A nap might do you good after the food."

"No. I am here now, I am good for the time being."

He stood and she imitated him. He bent over the table wrapped his arms gently around her shoulders and kissed her chastely on the cheek.

He then stepped over and opened the door and handed what was left of the bottle and the cups to Lawler, caught her by the wrist and pulled her gently out into the corridor, determinedly propelling her to the left. She turned round and found herself almost nose to nose with Lawler who was following them with a questioning expression.

Obviously sensing something but not willing to stop, Alistair said: "Lawler, this is Neriya Surana, slayer of the Archdemon, hero of Ferelden, erstwhile Counsellor. Neriya: Lawler, right hand man, wastrel, body guard, general factotum and fixer."

Lawler who had niftily in such a short space of time managed to transfer both the cups and the bottle to his right hand, nodded briefly in acknowledgement and held out his left towards her. Since she was still being very determinedly pulled down the passageway, their fingers barely touched. Addressing Alistair over her shoulder he said: "So this is the big girl."

"Yes" said Alistair "This is she."

"You're right" said Lawler, overlooking the worn tattered clothing and taking in the unruly white hair, the nicely shaped lips the somewhat flushed cheeks and the dark, dark eyes "she is a looker."

"Oh yes, she is, but she's mine." It occurred to Neriya that Alistair had given that last word a little more emphasis than the circumstances really warranted. But by that point they had arrived at the chamber door. Alistair opened it and ushered her in to a large, airy room quite spartanly furnished but dominated by a four-poster bed and then turned to take the cups and wine from Lawler.

In a slightly apologetic voice he said: "Lawler, I cannot recall for the life of me whether I have any appointments later this afternoon, send word to Crabbe. If I do, postpone them. I am indisposed. Thanks." And he closed the door.

"The big girl?" She asked.

"LOML"

"What?"

"Love of my life. But we are guys, Neriya, we do not use full expressions like that. It is... unmanly."

"Unmanly..."

"Well at least you are not the IQ."

"IQ?"

A fleeting smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The ice queen."

"Oh."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

DA 9:33 Eluviesta/Cloudreach

Denerim

He caught her in his arms and then looked down at her: "Andraste's mercy, you barely weigh a feather. You have not been looking after yourself, you… Well, in any event, that is not going to save you from what I am about to do to you..." He marched with a very determined stride towards the bed which she now noticed was covered in pillows and cushions.

"Now before we do this, tell me you are not wearing anything you value."

She sighed, "Apart from my pendant and my purse, I am not."

"_They_ are safe."

He placed her gently in the centre of the bed. He moved to the bottom of the bed and having pulled off his boots, began very purposely, to strip off his clothes. The dark blue doublet with the silver filigree, the matching trousers, the fine linen shirt with the ruffled cuffs. She propped herself up on an elbow and watched. As he removed the last of his small clothes he remarked, "As you can appreciate, I am very pleased to see you."

He clambered on to the bed and began to crawl towards her. She sunk into the mattress as he approached until he was poised over her, he quite naked, she fully dressed, his body full of tension, looking down directly at her with deep hazel eyes. "Very pleased" he added unnecessarily.

She held his gaze. In what used to be their own form of intimate salutation at just such moments, she traced with her fingers the route of his scar, the one that ran nearly from his right armpit to his right thigh. In response he lowered his mouth to hers.

After that he propped a few of the cushions behind her head and began to tug at her clothing, the flimsy cape yielded almost immediately, extending itself over the bed. He untied her money belt and cast it to the floor in the direction of the fireplace with a clatter. He then started to pull at her gown, but, although made of cheap dyed red wool, this was far more resistant and seemed determined not to give way easily. That was until he discovered some loose stitching on a side seam, this weakness enabled him to disassemble the dress with a few well-placed jerks. She was not wearing a breast wrap.

"You're letting yourself go" he mumbled moving his hands lightly over her breasts before dropping his mouth to them. Once he had sated himself on her breasts, for the time being, her underwear suffered the same fate as the cape. The coarse black wool stockings that came to mid thigh, unsurprisingly, he forgave.

So here they were again. Very slowly and without breaking eye contact she folded her knees upwards purposely running the rough wool teasingly against the smooth skin of his flanks. He feinted a few times, quickly thrusting his hips towards her just to see her blink. And then in one very smooth, very fast movement he buried himself in her. They both cried out at the same time.

On the other side of the door, Lawler could not avoid hearing them and tried to turn his mind away from what very plainly was taking place in the chamber behind him.

* * *

"That was…" he said, once he had rolled over to the opposite side of the bed and they had recovered their breath: "Incredibly self-indulgent of me… and tearing clothing off damsels is definitely overrated. I mean if it wasn't for a sleepy seamstress, I would still be tugging. How come in books they always do it so easily?" He began to pile up some of the cushions at the head of the bed.

"What would these books be?"

Having arranged the cushions and pillows to his satisfaction he sat against the head of the bed "Oh… Ah, no titles spring immediately to mind… But, anyway, I think it must be your turn now… Over here, trot, trot…" he said patting the space right beside him.

"First let me take these things off, they're really beginning to itch." She sat on the side of the bed and began to untie the garters and pull off the woollen stockings.

"I could get you some silk stockings, scarlet or midnight blue…"

"And what good would scarlet silk stockings do me?" She said scornfully: "Would they keep me warm in winter?"

"No. That's my job, but silk stockings might help me do it better…"

"Really?" She asked now kneeling in front of him just prior to kissing him.

"Oh, yes…" He said his hands reaching out to her as she leant over and kissed him on the forehead.

* * *

Afterwards, when they were under the covers and about to fall asleep, she said "I never told you, did I? That Leliana told me that…"

"You never told me that Leliana…?"

"After we made love for the first time" She said rousing herself a little: "A few weeks after that, you went to her and asked her… That you went to her and said something along the lines of…" she made her voice a little gruffer: "Well, I'm enjoying it a lot but I'm not sure she's enjoying it as much as she should be, am I doing something wrong?""

He sighed: "Sounds like me" He added, turning away from her: "I think I know where this is going…"

"So she said that she tactfully tried to explain a few things to you and you didn't seem to be getting it, so, as a sort of shortcut she asked you why you thought "The Pearl" was called "The Pearl"… and you said…"

""Because it's close to the sea?""

"That's it."

"It was a trick question. Have I ever told you I hate trick questions? Because you know the obvious answer, is not the right answer, but you don't know what the right answer is, and the other person does and, oh sod it… I'm tired" but he felt compelled to add: "Having said that Leli _was_ helpful…"

"Leli was actually impressed that you had taken the trouble to ask in the first place, that you cared, she thought it was a good sign… What I really meant to say is that you've come a long way since then… A very long…" She yawned.

"Probably because there was nowhere else to go… Now, go to sleep, I'm sure there will be plenty more exhausting things for you to do tomorrow."

* * *

He woke up early at first was surprised to realise that he wasn't alone in the room or the bed. He turned round and saw Neriya who was obviously still sleeping soundly with her back to him. He then ran through in his mind everything that had happened the previous evening, and ran through several of them a second time, just to make sure he wouldn't miss a detail. He realised he hadn't felt so good about life in a long time.

He got up shrugged his shirt on and started to tend to the fireplace so she wouldn't feel so cold when she rose. After he had placed the kindling and struck the tinderbox and saw the first incipient flames licking at the logs, he started to move towards the window when his eye was caught by her purse and belt which lay exactly where he had tossed them the evening before. Without hesitation, he picked the belt up, prised the purse off it and tipped the contents into his hand.

Lawler was sitting across the doorway, barely awake when Alistair opened it. He got to his feet. "Look" said Alistair and held out his hand in front of Lawler's face. Lawler looked down and saw what appeared to be a few coins and a rough-hewn rune stone.

"The hero of Ferelden" said Alistair: "And she has nought but sixteen coppers and a lopsided rune to her name…"

Lawler shrugged and Alistair tipped the coins and rune into his other hand: "She needs some clothes, the ones she had yesterday are no longer… wearable. By my reckoning she is about one dress size smaller than IQ… And stockings, lots of stockings, silk, different colours… You know where to find my vast fund of worldly assets…"

Lawler smiled: "I always said you were a wuss…"

"I'll take that comment out on your hide later today."

"Huh, if you can catch me first… You should get back to bed now, it's very early, even for you and you'll need your wits about you if you are even to stand a chance. Also… she may worry if she wakes up and you are not there…"

* * *

She woke around two hours later. Alistair was standing at the bottom of the bed, fully if carelessly dressed this time, in yesterday's clothes. Light was pouring through the window and it turned the very tips of his hair tousled a pale gold. Over his arm he held a fresh set of clothes for himself.

"Get up, sleepyhead, there is a long day before us."

She didn't obey immediately, one she did not want to give him the full pleasure of bossing her around, and two, more importantly, the bed felt so comfortable that she was very reluctant to leave it for the time being.

"No clothes for you yet, hopefully, coming later…" He gestured towards a pathetic pile of… rags, really, just by his feet, which she realised were the clothes she was wearing the night before. "Sheet will have to do. I've arranged a bath for us."

She wrapped a sheet around her and followed him down the corridor.

"I could carry you, if you want." He said noticing her bare feet.

"Not necessary, I can walk, you know."

They went down a narrow staircase and ended up in the basement, somewhere near the kitchens she could smell bacon cooking and hear the clatter of pots and pans and the hiss of eggs frying on the range and animated voices. Her stomach rumbled, Alistair laughed. "Be sure to give in to that impulse later", he said. They turned to the left and a little girl was attempting to get a cat out from under an armoire. She looked up at them as they passed her and smiled not seeming at all surprised.

Alistair opened a door to the right and they were hit by a wall of steam. A very large round white marble tub was sunk into the floor. She dropped the sheet and Alistair helped her down a few steps she sunk down into the warm water with a sigh. He took his clothes off got in and sat opposite her.

"This is a good way to start the day." He said, and for a few minutes they just sat there.

"I've been thinking" She said: "about last night…"

He looked at her expectantly.

"You were very good…"

He looked away for a moment but the silence grew. As always the impulse to fill it overtook him.

"What do you want me to say?"

She shrugged and continued looking at him.

"I could say, I suppose, that it's through reading. Been doing a lot of that lately. Things like: "A treatise on the practical aspects of optimal agricultural production in temperate climates" or "Seasonal fluctuations in currency exchange levels in times of crisis". Riveting. I do take the occasional break. There are some more diverting and equally informative texts out there. But it isn't, not entirely, anyway…" He added: "Over a year, that's how long you've been gone. That seems a long time to fill up, you know. Apart from work, only so much time can be taken by doing kingly things or shield bashing Lawler, practicing crossbow, organising my rune collection, indexing my library, I'm growing a good one, by the way, going out in the evenings, drinking… Staying at home in the evenings... Drinking…"

"So…"

"So, short of taking up gardening, which you can't do at night, anyway, I have not been entirely chaste. At first I had a few casual… liaisons, but that got complicated very quickly. I am not good at dissembling, people got hurt. I simply did not want the emotional baggage, there was enough emotion barging around in my own head as it was."

He paused and she looked at him expectantly: "As I saw it, I was waiting for you to come back, filling time, but I appreciate that the other person might not see it like that. Oh, I tried to please, actually I'm quite good at the pleasing, but flatter… not so good at the flattering. So then I may have made a few more… Formal arrangements. One night only, no strings attached… Don't look at me like that, it's not as if I could walk into The Pearl spread my arms and say "Surprise me" like any normal punter…"

As if echoing the gesture he had just described, Neriya looked down at her hands and opened them before her.

"And Anora?"

"What of her? As you see, she has her quarters. I have mine. We meet every few days to discuss… Policy. It's very civilized, we agree a lot: On policy. She reminds me of her father, I remind her of her father's killer, which, actually, I am."

He shrugged lowered his voice and moved slightly closer to her: "We did try it once, you know, a few months back…" He sat back: "What a bundle of laughs that was!" I couldn't get it up for her any more than I could get it up for a broodmother. As for her, I could swear I heard her retching in the privy afterwards… Wonderful to have that kind of effect on a person of the opposite sex, especially my _wife_." This last word came out with not a little venom.

He closed his eyes: "Not that I care overmuch, makes things simpler…. But not what you would call a pleasant evening, on the whole."

"I heard this song…"

He snorted: "Everybody's heard that… Anora even accused me of writing it. As if I would write a song about my *uh-hum* or my wretched love life. As if I had the talent."

"You could have told me earlier."

"Why? Shame myself up front only to have you run away again without giving myself the chance to explain?"

"I am sorry." She closed her hands making two small fists. "I did not intend to make you sad or bitter."

He was silent for a while, as if mulling this over. Eventually he said "I think it's your turn now. Explain at least the tattoos. A truth for a truth."

She put her right hand out, extending her fingers. He reached out and held it gingerly.

"This one is Cullen."

And then her left: "This one is Jowan."

He whistled, not humorously, between his teeth; "Why am I not surprised? And what about the third one, that one, on your right wrist"

"You didn't know him."

"Well" he said mildly "He probably had it coming." And then he added: "But what I don't understand is why you had to take this upon yourself…"

"They were loose ends."

"Loose ends… Maker forbid, that anyone should ever become such. But let me finish what I was saying, sooner of later these people would have paid, things would have caught up with them…"

"Oh? I'm sure Alistair Theirin would have been happy to sit back and let Loghain Mac Tir get what was coming to him though the simple passage of time…"

"That was different. We had an opportunity. We -I- took it and I did what I did. There were no opportunities presenting here. You sought these people out and hunted them down. Why did you feel you had to do this?"

"Because I was responsible…"

"No, you were not responsible" He raised his voice: "You did not cause or encourage Cullen to fall in love with you. You did not summon those abominations that so tormented him. As for Jowan, he chose of his own free will to trick you into assisting him to escape from the tower. He took advantage of your friendship for him and abused it. He then chose to poison Arl Emon. How were you responsible for either of them?"

There was a pause, she said in a quiet voice: "But I contributed to their actions, to some extent I facilitated them. But more to the point, if the opportunity to remove Loghain had not presented itself, would you not, sooner or later, have hunted him down yourself?"

"You mean, one dark night, catch him alone, accost him in a side street and challenge him to a duel?" He interlaced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles.

"Something like that…"

"Short answer: Yes. Slightly longer answer: Yes, but that would not have made it right…"

He heaved a sigh leaned back and looked at the ceiling and sighed again. He said: "You know, I had great plans for that ceiling…"

Neriya leaned back and looked up, she saw the ceiling, which had obviously recently been plastered over, was a pristine and uniform white. Just over the round tub was a vault. She realised it was an inverse reflection of the tub in which they were sitting.

"A scene with nymphs being chased by satyrs through a forest glade, or two lovers, enraptured, smiling at each other just before doing the deed, watched over by cherubs… Something a bit naughty, a bit racy. No more gloomy hunting scenes barbaric gore-encrusted heroes or murky portraits. Something with a bit of "joie de vivre" as the Orlesians would say… Something… Happy…"

There was a long pause: "We have to continue this conversation. Unfortunately…" He ducked his head under the water, re-emerged picked up a bar of soap from dish that she hadn't noticed previously and began to scrub his hair. Then he stood up and began to soap the rest of himself: "Probably better with more clothes on…"

He ducked under again: "But for now, I have to run. Work to do and all that."

He got dressed very quickly and she noticed that his clothes today were very plain. No filigree. It was quite strange to see him so consistently in ordinary clothes rather than armour. He saw her looking at him and grinned his hand going to his open collar: "What? Do I look OK?"

"You look fine" she said. "The darker colours with the white shirt favour you, make you look more serious, but what about my clothes?"

"Arg, sorry forgot, wait here a moment and I'll see what rags Lawler has been able to dig up for you…"

He returned after about ten minutes with an armful of fabrics in a riot of colours . "Includes underwear, a bit drab, if you ask me, but we may be able to fix that. At least he included stockings." He laid them out carefully on one of the four wooden benches surrounding the bath tub. "I'll leave them here so milady can go through them when she has finished with her bath." He added: "I have a meeting with my dear wife this afternoon. You are invited. But for now, you take your time. Choose a pretty dress, and don't forget: Scarlet stockings."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dragon 9:34 Eluvista/Cloudreach

Brecilian Forest

In as short space of time possible since the departure of the strange knight the King sent Lawler to the settlement requesting the presence of Keeper Lanaya. The Keeper came surprisingly quickly and, accompanied just by Lawler, walked past the two guards who had been posted some five metres from the tent and went into it.

The King who was seated in a camp chair behind a folding table holding a bundle wrapped in a blanket, he stood and Lawler out of instinct went to stand behind him. The King gestured to the chair opposite and the Keeper sat. The King handed her the bundle which immediately began to cry and sat down again himself.

"So no more maternal instinct that I have, then." He said dryly. He looked tired even though it was barely midday. "She was quiet during the handover, a sleep spell maybe… At least her lungs seem to be in fair working order now, which is a relief. I keep worrying I am going to drop her."

"I've never been good with children." Lanaya admitted.

"So you don't have any of your own?"

"Oh no."

"Lawler tells me he helped raise a few of his siblings, so I guess he trumps us both. It's a girl, by the way, a really pretty girl. First things first, though, we don't have any way in camp to feed her, I was hoping you could assist."

''I think I can, do you have some parchment, ink and a quill?"

"Of course." The King pulled out a plain wooden box with a sliding lid, put it on the table opened it and extracted the necessary items. With an expression of relief Lanaya handed the child back to the King who put it over his shoulder and began to pat it and proceeded to write a few sentences in Dalish on the parchment and tossed some sand over it to dry it.

"You should give this to my second, Merenor, he'll find a wetnurse and hopefully she'll be able to come over within a few hours."

"Lawler, arrange for a runner to the settlement." The King looked at Lanaya, who nodded. "I think we need to set up another tent, a warm one, could you speak to the steward to make the preparations? In the interim, I need some face time with the Keeper here." Lawler took the parchment and headed towards the entrance flap. The King stopped him. "By the way, thanks for everything." Lawler smiled briefly shrugged and left.

"An asset" said the King.

"Lawler filled me in on the way here."

"I hate to ask you this, but I hope you understand, I don't have much choice... Do you know any thing about this, anything at all?"

Lanaya flushed. The King shrugged. "I had to ask."

"No I do not, nothing whatsoever." The King looked relieved.

" But I shall in any event make enquiries once I get back to my settlement, although I very much think I would be aware if one of my people had planned something like this.

"Thank you"

"What... Who is this child?"

"I think she's mine. "

"Yours and Neriya's?"

"Yes. The timing is about right, actually, Lawler says he reckons she's about three months. It would be interesting to have an independent view from the wet nurse, however. But that's all that's about right. Everything else is totally OFF."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed: "It's complicated but let's just say, that Neriya and I were not supposed to be able to have children and leave it at that, shall we?"

"Some times the unexpected happens, but is it possible that this is an imposture?"

"You mean someone trying to pass off a child that isn't mine as mine? I really don't think so. She was wearing this pendant, Neriya's Grey Warden pendant, I think." He held up a small glass vial of some transparent liquid within which floated three distinct drops of blood.

"It is virtually identical to my own which I still have, but they must be hard to come by, especially in Ferelden. Plus I exchanged a few words with one of the people who handed her to me, I think it was Zev. Can't be one hundred per cent sure, though."

"Zevran Airani, the assassin?"

"One and the same."

"I thought he had left Feralden for Orlais."

"Who knows?"

"And then there was this... It was pinned to her shawls." He handed her a slip of parchment and abruptly stood up and looked away, pulling the child towards him even closer.

Lanaya carefully scanned the few lines through twice, moving her lips silently as she read:

Most beloved

I am the human child of a female of the elven race and a human male, the human child of a female of the elven race and a human male,

I am the child of a mage and a warrior, the child of a mage and a warrior,

I am a second bastard child of a second, bastard, child

I am a child who killed its mother of a child who killed its mother.

She looked at the King: "But this seems to be saying..."

"That she's dead, I know." When he turned back to her he looked even more drained and older: "How can she be dead and I not aware of it? I always thought that there was this unspoken bond between us. When she disappeared the first time around I feared the worst but a part of me knew that she was out there somewhere and that she would return, as she did. That part of me also tells me that this child is mine, but nothing else, certainly not that she has... passed. I don't think I believe that."

"Humans usually only have a very limited Fade sense."

"Aye, and if mine were not fallible how come I did not sense that she was giving birth three months ago? For all I know I was dining heartily back at my grand palace in Denerim while she was screaming in the throes of childbirth." He grimaced. "Maker, that is a _very_ hard thought."

"But she left of her own accord."

"Yes she did."

"And neither of you knew."

"How could we at the time? She came, she went, we'd spent about eight weeks together. But when she realised, why did she not return?"

Lanaya shrugged: "So many questions"

"She was always deep, miles beyond me..."

"Sometimes deep people get lost in their own depths..." Lanaya bit her tongue, realising that this chain of thought was not helpful. "That message you sent, about a year ago, I did... make enquiries. There was nothing. Nothing until she had reached the outskirts of Denerim and by the time I would have gotten a message to you she had already presented herself at the palace."

"She has an uncanny knack for disappearing." He added: "Then there are other things in the note. This is me, obviously", he pointed to the third and the fourth lines.

"But this?" The first line "And this? What am I to make of this? My mother was a servant girl, a poor besotted pleb, a human, not an elf, not a mage."

"Ah! Interesting…" said Lanaya looking at him.

"Interesting!" All of a sudden he seemed to lose his temper, raising his voice: "Interesting! What do you mean? Do you know something about me that I don't? Why is this always the case, why is it that everybody knows who I am, what I am, where I come from what is in my own best interests, but me, why...?" The baby that had fallen asleep suddenly woke up and began to grizzle. The King's manner changed immediately, "I am so sorry, little one, daddy didn't mean to upset you..." but when he looked over at Lanaya, there was still a spark of anger in his eyes.

"Alistair…" Lanaya said kindly: "I understand your rage. Your path has not been an easy one. But believe me when I say I am not your enemy and I mean you no harm, save your wrath for those that are and do." She paused: "I also believe that many of those who have kept things from you may have done so with the best, if perhaps misguided, intentions. To protect you, to spare you pain. There is one advantage to all this. I think it points towards the note being genuine."

The King sat down and bowed his head. The baby began to cry and the King had to talk over it. "Forgive me, Keeper. I am aware that in the space of such a short conversation I have already offended you twice and you are my guest here. But my questions... She must be hungry" he added.

"You need to do your own homework, Alistair, this I cannot do for you, and neither can I tell you if Neriya did not. It would be… disloyal."

"What do you mean?"

"You are King now, you have access to information, archives, books, use them. How old are you?"

"25, why?"

Lanaya sighed: "I forgot you were so young. Then it is likely there will be living witnesses, too. Make enquiries but be discreet and careful... As for Neriya's whereabouts now, I shall make further enquiries on the _rembre_ and for Zev's too, if you wish."

"_Rembre_?" Over the crying child the King was not sure that he had heard correctly.

"Alistair, I am about to tell you something that, so far as I am aware, and bear in mind I am 73 years old and I have extensive knowledge as part of my training of my peoples' records, no Keeper has ever told a human, King of Ferelden or otherwise. _Rembre_ means, net, our network of information, great and patient fisherman that you are" And here she quirked an eyebrow at him: "I am sure you will appreciate the significance of the term. And I also need you to appreciate that you are privileged simply by dint of the fact that I have informed you that this network exists."

"I give you my word..."

"That is not necessary."

"And what does the 'rembre' tell you..."

"For example, that there are 15 elves in your household in Denerim, not counting that Antivan painter"

"Casildea, you know about Casildea?"

"Well, that is what she goes by now. Yes we know _all_ about her."

"Let me get this right, then. I'm assuming you know what time I get up, about my personal habits, my *appetites, my statuette collection?"

"Pretty much. We may not have known about the statuette collection but I'll be sure to add that to your personal verses once I get back to camp."

"Now you mock me. There is always a lot of bluffing in such things is there not?" He paused, but the Keeper was silent: "Wait, personal _verses_?"

"A bard versifier assembles a prosodic composition for each person of interest, a poem if you will."

The baby seemed to settle once again and started making a cooing sound, its thurm in its mouth. "Why poetry?"

"Why do dwarves use stone? Poetry is a powerful mnemonic, extremely useful for a people who are displaced frequently and who may not always have ready access to the more permanent forms of recording information. That is one of the reasons I am interested in this message here. It is linguistically highly structured. It is our kind of _stuff_, as you would say."

"We need to TALK, as in not here, not with baby, but across a table, sometime. Is there any chance you could come to Denerim soon?"

"That is very unlikely, you must understand, I cannot be seen to be at your beck and call. Ask what you will now and I will try my best to reply."

"How much does all this cost?"

"Now, I really don't follow you, shemlen" she said.

"Jerk me around, if you wish, but do tell. I am attempting to do set up something similar, I'm sure Anora already has something of the kind but I'm finding it difficult to arrange my own, basically, I'm finding it difficult to, um, set aside the funds I would need to do it without anyone asking awkward questions."

"Our network is based on loyalty and the need to survive rather than the simple need for information. Nevertheless, there are three pieces of advice I can give you: One, if you are not by your nature duplicitous, and really I don't think you are, find someone who is to head it. Two, duplication is bad, as it will almost always lead to expense, complication and unnecessary competition, so attempt to tap into the Queen's network rather than replicate it. Three, if you don't understand money, find someone who does. Perhaps a fourth is also in order: Loyalty _is_ important."

"If I need to get a message to you?"

"Then you should pass something on to a servant called Petreus." She added wryly "I believe his main occupation in your household is emptying chamber pots."

"Hmm, how long will it take to arrive here from Denerim?"

"It depends on where the rest of the links are, anything between a day and a half to three days."

"And if you were to send something to me?"

"You would get it."

"I see… How would I know it was from you?"

"It would contain this sigil somewhere." She used the quill which was still out to trace a quick sign on the table between them and then she ran her finger over the wet ink to blur the shape: "No-one else knows this, not even Merenor"

"Last question: Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I think you are attempting to do the right thing for my people and for Ferelden and because… I like you. This, for example..." The Keeper waved her hand, towards the camp.

"But this was fluff, a smokescreen, really" The King shook his head: "I received a message telling me to be here between certain dates... there was already too much hassle, too much gossip abroad about the King's solitary exploits. I invited the gentlemen along for cover, young male nobles are usually the most foolish, self-centred and unobservant of people. I'd hoped it would be something to do with Neriya, well, of course, it was, but not exactly what I had expected."

"Then let me tell you this: My elders liked your speech, although your early departure from the banquet got their tongues wagging again about low shemlen attention spans. My ladies enjoyed the improvised party with your gentlemen and for once there were no complaints about poor hygiene. Of course, you didn't know that there are hot springs about two miles away to the south east, but that somehow adds to naïve shemlen charm. Last but not perhaps least…" She added: "The keeper very much liked your gift and sympathises with your current plight, not that she lets that influence her decision making. Overmuch. Do not underestimate the power of... fluff."

"One thing more. I do not want to make this child's existence and its relationship to me public. Do you have any suggestions?"

The tent flap opened and Lawler put his head in: "The wet nurse has just arrived."

"We are just finishing up here." Alistair said.

"No probs" said Lawler: "We'll be just outside."

"Have you yourself had any initial thoughts?" Asked the Keeper.

The King exhaled: "As you are probably aware, I have a bad reputation for my, um, dalliances with the opposite sex. It had occurred to me I could start a rumour to the effect that the wet nurse is actually my mistress… but if she has a child in arms then that obviously will lead people to the exact same conclusion that I wish them to avoid… My second idea was that I could leave the child at the settlement and arrange for her transportation later…"

Lanaya shook her head, the King continued: "… but she would be noticeable there and I do not wish to leave her. Finally, I could say that the wet nurse and the child have been entrusted to my care by you and that I am escorting them to Denerim as a courtesy, say to visit relatives in the alienage. No-one but you, Lawler and myself have seen the child, there is no reason for people to suspect she is human, especially since I understand word is already going round the camp that the people who brought her here were elves…"

"I think your last idea is the better one."

"Would you be happy to support it?"

"I would."

Again the King bowed his head: "Ma serennas"

Lanaya laughed: "You need to work on your accent, young man, now let's see the wet nurse, actually probably better to have her come in here."

The woman that came in was very tall, at least as tall as the King but like many of her kind she was also thin. She pulled back her hood revealing a gaunt face with high cheekbones and a rather long nose. Her tattoos were quite singular being for the most part bright red with black shading. As he looked at them the King realised that they probably represented a blood splash, as if a bladder full of blood had ruptured in front of her face leaving the centre clear but with splashes around the edges. The woman's eyes flicked nervously to her Keeper. A look of surprise crossed Lanaya's face.

She said something in Dalish to the woman who fixed her eyes on the ground before her, holding her hands over her stomach clasped tightly together, the King thought there was some sharpness in the Keeper's tone. The woman answered, also in Dalish, in a sort of uninflected monotone still keeping her eyes on the ground.

Although the King had some months of Dalish, his knowledge was little more than rudimentary and he was nowhere near to understanding the fluent flow of the conversation between the two women, at most he could pick out the odd word from the exchange but that gave him very little idea of what was being said.

The Keeper added to what she had said seeming to get angry but the woman kept her eyes fixed and then replied with the same monotone although this time the King thought there was slightly more defiance in her voice and posture. The Keeper then asked a question, the woman, nodded, clearly agreeing to something. The Keeper added a final phrase for good measure and then turned to the King.

"This is Bregeth, my sister but not of the flesh. She assures me she will look after the child and serve you to the best of her ability" The Keeper nodded to the King and then, casting what appeared to be a warning stare in Bregeth's direction, left.

Once she had gone, Bregeth took a deep breath and raised her eyes. The King noted that they were a pale watery blue, almost silver.

"Do you speak Fereldan?" The King asked.

"Of course I do" Bregeth replied.

"I am Alistair… "

"I thought you were the King" said Bregeth.

"I am…"

"Then why don't you introduce yourself as such?"

"Fair enough. I am the King of Ferelden… your King."

"Better."

Suddenly Lawler, who had just come into the tent, intervened: "Why so impertinent, woman, we wish you no harm…"

The King shushed him: "Now this child…"

"Look, sire, your majesty, whatever, and you…" she said glancing at Lawler: "I did not come here to banter… I loath nobles, despise shemlen and can barely tolerate males. It is unfortunate that you happen to be all three…" She said turning her gaze back to the King: "… but I swore to my Keeper just then, by Andruil my patroness, that I would obey and serve the King and look after his child"

The King blinked a few times and looked at Lawler who raised his eyebrows. He then took a deep breath and said: "Very well, if that is the way you wish to do it. I Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden command you, Bregeth of the Dalish, to feed, care and protect this child, if necessary with your life. Now swear to me that you will do this, by the honour of your Keeper and that of Andruil, Lady of the Hunt."

Bregeth with an expression that was almost one of relief lowered her face touched her forehead and said: "I swear".

"Now, since you're the only grown up girl here…" said the King and handed her the baby.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Why is it…" said Alistair from the ground where he was lying: "… that we have more spectators today than any day previously?"

"I don't know, Your Majesty." Said Lawler who was standing above him and who, annoyingly, appeared to be on his best behaviour. "But perhaps it has something to do with your challenge to them the day before yesterday and how that went"

"I hear laughter… Are they laughing at me?"

"I really don't know, Your Majesty."

"Oh shove "Your Majesty"! Help me up, damn you."

Lawler extended a hand, Alistair grasped it and slowly got to his feet.

Insofar as Lawler was concerned Alistair had three moods: Business as usual, sulky and gloomy, for want of a better term. He considered it a key part of his job description, whatever that was, to move him from the last two back to the first as soon as possible. But when earlier in the day and unsolicited, he went to find him at his tent because he hadn't put in his usual appearance at around lunch time, he seemed to be in a funk that went beyond the usual gloomy. He was sitting back on his cot with his feet on the camp table and his hands crossed over his stomach staring blankly at nothing. A pile of books on the table by his feet, apparently unread. Lawler sat down opposite him and after a while said:

"Busy morning."

"Yeah." Said Alistair running one hand through his short hair and then was silent again.

"That Bregeth, she's a piece of work… but she seems to get on well with the child."

"Elven women…" said Alistair: "Are far too complex… and one day they'll be the bloody death of me."

"Look" said Lawler: "I don't quite know…"

"Believe you me, you really don't…"

"But whatever it is, if you want to protect that child you have to, seem at least to as be carrying on as normal. Otherwise the game is up, you know how it is… Show a sign of weakness and they're on you."

It hadn't taken Lawler very long to realise that Alistair responded quicker to fighting talk than to anything else in his conversational repertoire, which actually suited him just fine, because sometimes he wondered if there _was_ anything else in his repertoire.

"You've missed lunch but I think we still need to train. I'm happy to go easy on you…"

"No." said Alistair.

"No, you don't want to train?"

"No, I don't want you to go easy on me. In fact, I'll only come out to train if you promise to hit me very hard."

So Lawler, always happy to oblige, had.

Feeling really quite sore, before he went to his tent to change and clean up and after feeding his dogs, Alistair decided that he should visit Bregeth and his child to see how they were settling in. No sooner had he lifted the flap than Bregeth, who was sitting on a stool, looked up and glared at him. The baby seemed to be sleeping comfortably in her lap. When she saw he was still carrying his wooden training sword and shield her lips curled slightly.

Alistair tried to ignore her and instead looked around the tent and checked everything was in order, he was pleased to see that there were furs everywhere, in fact the tent resembled nothing more than a very warm cocoon.

He was about to withdraw discreetly when the baby suddenly woke up and let out a howl. Resignedly Bregeth went to draw up her shirt and their eyes met. Alistair turned to leave.

"Umm" said Bregeth.

Alistair turned around averting his eyes as Bregeth herself had done that morning when the Keeper was speaking to her. "I thought we weren't talking." He said.

"I said no banter" said Bregeth. "It's not the same. I presume…" she continued, "that you were present at this child's conception."

Alistair leaned back on his heels: "Well… Obviously."

"Then why would you be embarrassed to see it feed? Sit."

Alistair tried not too look to closely at Bregeth's breast as she offered it to the child who began to make urgent cooing sounds and then once it had latched on some rather obscene sucking noises. He felt his cheeks grow a little hot. After a while the child seemed to become calmer and the sucking less urgent but Bregeth suddenly tensed and he saw her fist clench.

"Is she hurting you?" asked Alistair.

"Sometimes it hurts", said Bregeth: "… but not then"

"So where is your baby?" asked Alistair attempting to make conversation to avoid thinking about what Bregeth had just said.

Bregeth looked up from the child to him: "He died. Three days ago."

That evening at supper Alistair had talked too much, laughed too much and drank too much, and was sick while Lawler was supporting him on the way back to his tent. But Lawler was happy because he felt pretty certain no-one else was really picking up on the over-exuberance cues as he was and he read them as a sign that by and large Alistair's mood was beginning to move towards better things.

It was about two in the morning by the steward when Lawler went quietly into Alistair's tent. Alistair was sleeping on his side Lawler shook his shoulder gently and squatted by his bed. "Alistair, Alistair, wake up". Alistair looked stunned for a moment and then slowly ran his hand over his forehead.

"What is it Lawler?" said Alistair, annoyed: "I hope it was worth you waking me up…"

"The Keeper has sent us a messenger. According to the Dalish, there are troops coming from the west, from the direction of Southreach…"

"Southreach?"

"Apparently it used to be the see of Arl Bryland but he died a few years back. Now it's held by his daughter, Arlessa Habren… The Keeper sent you this." Lawler passed him a small piece of parchment. "From what I can make out…"

"Habren, I'm not sure I've ever met her…" Alistair still looking very tired swung his legs over the side of the cot and took the parchment read and checked it carefully. "She says there are about eighty of them. Fuck…" He said putting his face in his hands and then scrunching the parchment up in one fist: "I knew it was going to be one of those days… Lawler go waking everyone up, but go about it quietly. Don't let people panic. Put all the civilians, children, camp attendants etc in one group and anyone who can fight in another… Get a few people to help the steward and start gathering all the spare weaponry we have in camp together in one pile. Where's the messenger?"

"Just outside."

"OK, I'll be out in a minute."

Alistair grabbed an undershirt and a pair of linen trousers and his sword, Starfang that Neriya had had forged for him. As he did he felt a frisson of power and excitement run through him. It was the same everytime he grasped Starfang, especially in anticipation of a fight. He barely had time to marvel, as he usually did, at how precisely the sword adjusted to his hand, as if he had been born holding it. The he draped his chainmail over his head. He was still tying up his trousers when he went outside. Lawler was standing next to a Dawlish youth barely in his teens. "He says he's called Sparrow, says he's their fastest runner."

The young man nodded eagerly, excitement dancing in his eyes.

"OK Sparrow, wait here." said Alistair. He ran to Bregeth's tent.

For a moment he stood still. Bregeth was sleeping soundly with one arm slung over her head. His child was sleeping next to her on its side facing Bregeth, naked except for a makeshift nappy, its tiny hands bunched in front of it.

"Bregeth…"

Alistair touched her cheek gently.

Bregeth woke up immediately with a snarl, swatting his hand away from her face and sitting up bringing out what appeared to be a an ironbark dagger from under her pillow. When she saw it was Alistair she relaxed: "What shemlen?"

"Bregeth, the Keeper says there are troops coming. From Southreach, she says that they may be planning to attack the camp…"

Bregeth stood very quickly she was wearing a shift that barely covered her thighs. Her dreadlocks were tousled.

"Give" She said gesturing towards a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. Alistair passed her some trousers.

"I want you to go to the settlement."

"Yes." She said slipping the trousers on. Then she gathered her touseled locks in one hand, twisted them behind her head and secured them with the dagger.

"Take the baby, there's a young man called Sparrow outside. Go with him."

"Yes, I know him" muttered Bregeth. "And what are you doing?"

"I'm staying here to fight. I'll send an escort with you all."

"No escort."

"An escort…"

"No, you will need all your people here."

"You…"

"Some shemlen clumsy foot, tripping over tree roots getting lost and making noise? Not needed. Your child, Sparrow and I and will be fine, we will make better time by ourselves."

"Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure."

Bregeth grabbed a sling that she had brought with her that morning and Alistair helped her put it over her shoulder.

"One thing…" Bregeth turned round to pick up the baby.

"Yes."

"If something should happen to me ask the Keeper to look after the child."

Bregeth look surprised but said: "I will."

"Alistair…" Bregeth turned around at looked at him holding the baby, who was just beginning to wake, out to him.

"Yes, Bregeth?"

"Your child has no name. Name her now. It is not right that if something should happen to you she should not even have a name to go by in the world."

Alistair took the baby, held it against his chainmail and stroked her feathery hair. "I think she smiled at me…"

"She does that." Said Bregeth.

He held her up in front of him and said: "Niahm"

Bregeth nodded approvingly.

"I want to give her en elven name too" said Alistair: "How do you say "star" in elven?"

"Which one?" Asked Bregeth looked taken aback, "… the heavens are full of stars."

"Maker's breath!" said Alistair: "Why do you Dalish always have to be so complicated? A star, just a bloody star, one of those shiny things!"

Bregeth sighed: "Eleniel"

""Eleniel", well there you go…" He kissed Niahm Eleniel on the forehead and handed her back to Bregeth who tucked her into the sling. "Now we have to hurry…"

Tension was palpable in the air as soon as they left the tent. Lawler and the steward were standing by the fire with a pile of armour and weapons at their feet. At either end of the camp stood two, equally nervous, groups of people in utter silence.

Suddenly aware that his every movement was being closely watched, Alistair strode towards the fire. Bending down to the pile, he extracted a light chainmail and wordlessly handed it to Bregeth. She put it on draping it over her torso and the baby. Then she squatted and clutching some ash from the fire, quickly rubbed it over the chainmail both front and back, her face and the back of her hands. She gestured to Sparrow and he ran forward and proceeded to do the same.

"Now go" said Alistair: "and good luck"

"Likewise" murmured Bregeth and she and Sparrow sprinted towards the dark forest.

"Lawler…"

"More than likely they'll be coming from the north… down the same path we followed leading off from the west road." He pointed behind Alistair: "If they're clever they'll split up but then they've already been spotted by the elves so there must be some question about that…"

"OK, so it's a no-brainer."

"Yeah" said Lawler: "Only question really is who goes in the river?"

"So we send the civilians south, do you think?"

"Yes, but there's no crossing there…"

"It'll have to do." Alistair muttered back: "We need to get them out of the way but I don't want to send them towards the settlement. I very much suspect that this is something between us humans and I don't want to drag the Dalish into it. They've already done more than their bit by tipping us off."

Alistair turned to the steward: "Eoin… Come. Lawler, go over and tell the guys to start gearing up."

Alistair and Eoin walked towards the… Alistair slung his sword over his shoulder and clung to it with his hands on either side: "I'm really sorry" He started: "But you are all going to have to leave the camp. We've been told that there are soldiers coming this way and you don't want to be around when they get here… I know this must be very frightening, very scary but believe me it would be worse, far worse if you stay. Make sure that every child has an adult assigned to look after them. Walk steadily be careful not to loose your footing. If you hear anything, hit the ground and keep still and silent, until you're sure you know who they are. Darkness is your friend, take as little light as you can get away with without putting yourselves in danger. Do as you just saw the elves do, they've lived here for a few centuries, they know what it's about. If you're attacked, and I really, really hope you're not, don't clump together, scatter. If all goes well and I'm pretty sure it will, we'll be coming later to find you. We won't leave anyone behind…"

He turned to the steward: "OK, Eoin, now go…"

"But…"

"No. You go too, if you're not a fighter you'll only be in the way… I don't mean that unkindly. And if something happens to me… Tell the Queen…" He paused: "Shit… Don't tell her anything and forget I said that. That's an order… Here's another: Go."

Alistair sauntered over to the last group: "Right… Anyone here know what this is all about?" He started scanning the faces in front of him as did Lawler standing beside him. "Anyone? No? Come forward now and I'll still be nice…" He swished Starfang about in front of him.

There was a deep silence. One of the logs in the fire crackled. "OK moment passed." He said. "That was the first thing. Second thing: They're probably coming for me… No, I really don't know what I did _this time_… But if anyone doesn't want to get involved, to commit, and fight, then go with the civilians. I don't want you here."

"Did you really have to say that?" Mumbled Lawler out of the side of his mouth.

"Yeah, I did…"

"OK so you're all staying. Good. Might even be fun. I don't think there's much else to say except that since you're staying, I hope for your own sakes you perform better than you did against me the day before yesterday. If you don't, they'll have our guts for garters and from the look of you lot I doubt any of you, any of _us_, actually, would make… attractive garters, especially at this time in the morning."

He turned to Lawler: "I did the speechy thing, your turn. Plan. Expound" Lawler look puzzled.

"Sorry, explain."

Lawler took a deep breath and pulled out his sword and with his left hand and began to draw a rough map in the ground. "The river, the west road, north down the path here, camp. The bulk of us withdraw to the forest round the camp. One or two stay, wandering around to give the impression that we haven't been alerted. Lure the bulk to the centre of camp, attack from both sides drive them towards the river, finish them off there. Try and close the path off behind them if we have the people."

Alistair interjected: "That means some of you will be standing in ice cold water… Sorry about that. Last thing, this Habren, anyone know her? Details about her household etc?"

There were some murmurings among the group and finally someone said: "I think I can help…"

"Then you're with me, Oswyn" "The rest of you buddy up to get you armour on quicker" As Oswyn passed Lawler he touched him on the shoulder: "I'm happy to take the water". Lawler nodded.

Alistair was making fast strides towards his tent when he realised that Oswyn was unable to keep up with him so he slowed down.

Once inside he started rooting around in the oaken coffer with the creaky lid: "OK so tell me, this Habren…"

"Is a bitch…"

Alistair glanced at him. "Descriptive but not helpful." and bent over and began pulling the pieces of his armour out of the coffer. Finding his arming doublet he put it on and then sat on the cot to pull on the sabatons.

Oswyn began to put on his own breastplate. "She's nineteen. Arl Bryland's only daughter. Her mother died giving birth to her. Bryland never remarried. Bryland was old school, you know hunting, fishing, a bit crusty, but ran his estate like clockwork and had some good people around him. She really was his only weakness. He spoilt her. Nothing was too good for her…"

"Here, let me help with that" Oswyn turned round while Alistair buckled his breast plate to him.

"She had stuff, you know, silks, stoles and dresses, fancy shoes. The kind of thing that would make an Orlesian courtesan jealous. Daddy's girl…"

"My turn." Oswyn fastened Alistair's breast plate

Alistair said: "Third best suit, dragonbone, but definitely the lucky one. We might need it…"

Oswyn held out his arms and Alistair fit the backplate to his back and they both began tightening the buckles at the front. "When she hit fifteen, things began to go sour between them. I think Bryland suddenly became aware that she would never amount to anything and was disappointed in her. And he got too much in his cups … Anyway, he passed two years ago last winter. She sacked most of his people because they were "boring", or something. It seems that they were just attempting to talk some sense to her… And so to today, still spending money like it's water but nothing's coming in any more… Ha, that could be the problem right there…" He assisted Alistair to secure his backplate in place.

"How do you know so much about them?"

"Well, we are neighbours, me being from Dragons Peak, but mostly because I was betrothed to her…" He gestured towards his legs: "Then this happened and… no more betrothal…"

"Oh, the wonders of political marriages…"

Oswyn looked away: "You have no idea…"

"Think not, eh?"

Oswyn didn't think it diplomatic to answer that.

"But what of her household? Her troops…"

"It occurs to me" said Oswyn "that if I am to fight in the water, it's probably better not to put on full armour."

"Probably not, but I suggest you'll still need the cuisses. Here, allow me…"

He continued: "Well her captain of the guard Baudouin is an Orleisian arsehole who has been trying to get into her knickers for years… Yes, I know, descriptive but not helpful."

"And not at all bitter…" said Alistair. Oswyn bent down to help him secure his greaves. "Hey, you don't need to be my squire…"

"As for the troops I think they've been subject to the same neglect… You know how badly paid soldiers tend to react, they get lazy, disaffected… Baudoin doesn't appear to be particularly popular even with his own men. He's just too, well… _obvious_."

"OK all good stuff… Anything else?"

"Yes, arms now…" Alistair held them out and Oswyn began lacing.

"This Baudouin, is he any good in a fight? Dexter sinister? S and s or one hander?"

"Dex all the way, s and s, like you, I guess. Yeah, he's good. Not as good as he thinks he is, though, probably not quite as good as you at your best. I could never take him… But then he's larger than me."

"Now you…" Oswyn held out his own arms. "You're better off without her and you know that." Alistair said as he laced his armour. "You should never set up with someone you don't really care for or who doesn't care for you… I only wish I were as good at taking my own advice as I am at giving it."

When they left the tent, Lawler wandered up to them. "Do I look like Eoin?" he asked grinning.

"Not even a little…"

"Great!"

"Where are all the rest?" Asked Alistair looking around.

"Oh, I sent them to their places. You're over there" He said to Alistair pointing. "And I'll join you once this thing, gets started, pretend like I'm running for the trees."

"And my dogs?"

"They're there too."

"Oswyn…" said Lawler.

"Yeah, I know… Water."

"Don't go in too deep too soon, alright?" said Lawler. "Good luck."

Alistair walked towards the tree line as he had been told, nodded to the other guys that were already there, and hunkered down between Mince and Meat to wait.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dragon 9:34 Eluvista/Cloudreach

Brecilian Forest

It took the troops barely an hour to make their presence felt in the camp.

Once he had taking up his assigned position Lawler wandered over, apparently in character and told him that he had very strongly advised the others that they were not too move so much as a muscle until Alistair gave the signal, which would basically be him charging. As if Alistair didn't already feel under enough pressure.

Alistair watched nervously from the tree line as the scene unfolded in front of him. He found that he was talking to himself or rather to Lawler under his breathe as the first lights made themselves visible from the north, as they had anticipated, and as Lawler, pretending to not notice, went nonchalantly about his imaginary business with aim of drawing the most soldiers possible into the clearing without putting his life at risk. "Here they come… careful now… Don't get to close…. OK… Easy does it… Easy does it… Watch out for that one… Reel them in… That's it… That's it… Come to daddy now… Come to daddy now… Come…"

It was only with a supreme effort of will, exercised at the last moment, that he managed to avoid shouting at the top of his lungs "Come to daddy!" rather than "For Ferelden!" as he and the dogs charged the soldier haring after Lawler, who, laughing manically, was at last dashing towards the tree line, and knocked him off his feet. But, in any event, from the chaos that then ensued in the camp, it would not have made much difference.

For the next fifteen or so minutes Alistair acted as if he were a bowling ball on a field of skittles, charging forward and knocking or a least temporarily stunning every foe he encountered, left and right, hoping that Lawler and some of the others would be able to mop up in his wake. When he reached one side of the field he would turn round and start off towards the other. He did this about three times until he began to get more than moderately out of breathe.

When he turned to mark a change of pace he was pleased to see Lawler close behind him. Without needing speak they then began to work in tune, picking their marks more selectively, seeking to drive them towards the river in a more systematic fashion. Alistair would make a strong, overt, attack on the target whereas Lawler would to wear it down and harry it by circling it and delivering opportunistic blows.

* * *

Bregeth and Sparrow meanwhile were making good time towards the eleven camp and heard the din of the battle raging behind them, cries, clashes of metal and screams. But Bregeth was concerned that something did not seem to be quite right, so she asked Sparrow to stop and they ducked into the undergrowth crouched still and listened silent save for their heartbeats. "There" said Bregeth, "…that sound is nearer than it should be if it were coming from the shemlen camp."

Sparrow was quiet for a few seconds concentrating more carefully and trying to pick up the sound to which she was referring with his younger ears. Finally he turned to her and whispered: "Yes I think there is a group behind us…" Bregeth emitted an extremely ripe oath in ancient Dalish. "They have split up some have attacked the camp but there is a group that is coming to attack the settlement… Sparrow, you need to make more haste now. But haste in silence. Run ahead and warn the settlement to expect an attack"

"And what will you do, Bregeth?"

"I will wait here, allow them to pass me by and then make my way back to the camp. Hopefully the fact that they have split up their forces will mean that the King's side has more of a chance against them. I will take the child back and do my best to try to convince them to send some assistance to the settlement if they have prevailed"

* * *

Despite the fact that he could now barely feel his legs below his kneecaps, Oswyn was beginning to enjoy fighting in the water because, as he had hoped, thigh high water made all men lame and at least he was more accustomed to being lame than most. And the upper body strength he had endeavoured so hard to develop, an effort which he'd lately come to consider was all but pointless, given that he could be outmatched by anyone with a reasonable turn of speed, was now proving to be a true asset in terms of dealing blows, grappling and holding unwilling foes under water.

A sort of routine developed between the five or six in the water party whereby anyone being pushed in to the river would be subject to a multitude of blows from different directions until they were surprised, stunned and subdued enough to be dunked. Should any turn out to be especially resistant to such treatment them would be batted towards Oswyn who would very promptly deal with them.

* * *

It was not until about an hour into the fighting that a glint of silver to his right caught Alistair's eye. Lawler who had just been punching between the ribs at his feet said: "Look over there… It seems we have a visitor…"

"Let's go for it…" So Alistair and Lawler pushed their way through a few stragglers over to where Baudouin audaciously dressed in a bright chevalier suit of silverite armour was just delivering a coup de grace to a man lying at his feet, who groaned when Baudouin drove his sword through his throat.

Suddenly everyone around them became still. Baudouin aware that there was an audience walked leisurely to over where Alistair was standing in his dark armour with Lawler at his left shoulder. "You'll pay for that." said Alistair.

"So you are the King?" Without waiting for a reply Baudoin turned to one of the soldiers next to him: "Bring the dog." Another soldier struggled forward and dumped the limp, still twitching body of a mabari at Alistair's feet and quickly withdrew.

Alistair, barely glancing down stepped over it carefully.

"Yes." He replied.

"The bastard… The one who defers to little female mage elves but who can't get it up for his fully human queen." continued Baudoin.

"Yeah" said Alistair grimly: "That's me."

"And who is this?" He said gesturing dismissively in Lawler's direction.

"Lawler, my knight escort"

"Knight?" Said Baudouin: "He looks like a weasel" Beside him Alistair felt Lawler bristle.

"Sorry, I should have said my knight escort _weasel_... Elves, weasels and a bastard… How clever of you to notice Baudouin."

"Wave him down." Said the chevalier.

"Why would I do that?"

"So we can fight, just you and I. I have never taken a king before…"

"No, Alistair" whispered Lawler: "He's fresh and you are not, that would be incredibly stupid…" "Then I'll just have to do it quickly, won't I?" Alistair whispered furiously back.

"Stand down, Lawler"

"Idiot!" said Lawler under his breath.

"Frankly, Baudouin I think you're going to go frustrated to your grave on that one…"

They began to circle each other slowly. Baudouin feinted with his sword Alistair dodged.

"But at least I'm not pointlessly chasing juveniles, Baudouin." Alistair tried for a kick, nearly overbalanced and cursed under his breath. "I mean, let's face it, right? I get some. You don't."

Baudouin tried to strike him with his shield to the side but Alistair met it with his. There was a resounding clang and for a few moments they stood face to face, snarling and shoving at each other like two particularly bad tempered boys in a school yard. Lawler and the others looked on fascinated.

"Your mother was a _putain_!" Spat Baudouin the first of them to revert to verbal communication.

"Means "whore" in Orleisian" Said Alistair in an aside to Lawler without breaking eye contact with Baudouin, and then once again directing his words at the chevalier: "… And, yeah, I'm a _fils de putain, _yadda, yadda, fucking yadda." And Alistair made to charge throwing out his chest, forcing Baudouin to take a step back.

Alistair relaxed: "So far_, _so_ original, _Baudouin_._ Story of my life!_" _

Baudouin attempted a side strike with his sword at his helmet but Alistair deflected him raising his shield.

"But let me tell you something…" Alistair hissed putting his face close to Baudouin's: "Better any day a Fereldan bastard with a good hard-on than a limp-dicked Orleisian chevalier"

Baudouin growled and then thrust forward. Alistair pivoted to his left and, swinging his shield down, struck Baudouin on the faceplate, using the remainder of Baudouin's momentum against him to throw him to the side and off his feet. For good measure, once Baudouin had hit the ground, he stepped over him and struck his helmet sharply twice in short succession with Starfang's pommel.

"Lawler… Ow! My arm hurts…" said Alistair, panting hard. "We may need him or at least his armour. Make sure he can't get up again." Alistair flinched when Baudouin screamed as Lawler slashed the tendons in both his legs.

Following Baudouin's defeat things wound down in camp pretty quickly. Alistair, exhausted, sat down by the fire, removed his helmet and put his head on his knees, Oswyn smiling from ear to ear, limped from the water and sat down next to him and began to strip off his armour in order to dry and warm up.

First and foremost was the clean-up. Lawler was strongly of the view having questioned Baudouin that they should send a detachment to Southreach castle and apprehend Habren while she was still vulnerable and Alistair could not disagree with that. It was still a few hours before dawn so they decided to use the last of darkness to their advantage. Alistair went to his tent to change into Baudouin's armour while Oswyn briefed Lawler on the layout of the castle and the names, physical descriptions and roles of prominent members of the Arlessa's household.

Alistair was almost done when Lawler came in and told him Bregeth was outside. Alistair was relieved to see that the baby was weeping mightily. Bregeth, who seemed uncharacteristically subdued and tired, was rocking her in her arms: "Your majesty" Said Bregeth, they are attacking the settlement. By my estimation there are about thirty of them."

"Where's the young man?"

"Sparrow? I sent him to the settlement to alert them, he is a runner and we had at least twenty minutes on them when realised they were coming in our wake. I took the decision to return here to request your assistance. In doing so I crossed paths with the detachment…"

"This makes no sense…"

"From a certain point of view, from another…"

"I don't follow… You also took a risk" He said meeting her eyes.

Bregeth glanced quickly at Lawler as if for support and began speaking quite fast: "Shemlen often believe they are being astute when they are simply being inept and obvious. There is no way a detachment of thirty could take down the settlement so the intention was just to cause some damage and then withdraw. Damage that may be enough to explain to your Queen, the day after tomorrow how it came to be that your camp was wiped out and you with it…" Bregeth paused for breath.

"Lawler?"

"Works for me."

"Go speak to Baudouin again, see what he has to say… Bregeth the other thing… We will discuss that later."

"Would you consider helping the settlement?"

"Sorry, I'm tired and I'm taking a lot on here. Yes, of course. Do we have the casualty figures yet Lawler?"

"I'll go see."

"Do that first. Bregeth, grateful if you could come here…"

Bregeth followed him into the tent: "This armour…" she said.

"Is Baudouin's."

"Take me with you."

"No."

"Why not? I could be very useful, shemlen…"

"Because you have to stay here and look after the ba...Niamh. Anyway, help me finish putting this on, I think my right arm's nerfed…" Bregeth helped him but persisted.

"You should take me."

"No."

"You need me, shemlen"

"So does Niamh"

"I can feed her now and someone else can look after her for a few hours…" And Bregeth pulled up her top and the child in the sling latched onto her breast with indecent alacrity. "See, even your daughter knows…"

"I said no, woman, what's wrong with you? NO means NO!"

"Look Alistair, I am not just a breast for your baby… The settlement has been attacked I can report back to the Keeper on the follow-up she would be grateful if you took me as an observer. I have other skills too, do you know how old I am?"

"I don't care, why… How many elves are there in Habren's household?"

"Four and one is her dresser."

"You could be bluffing… And the Keeper did not seem to trust you over much."

"Ah, yes but, if I am, I bluff well and is that not a skill in itself? As for me and the Keeper, she might not fully trust me…" And here Bregeth wiggled her eyebrows a little: "But she does respect me…"

"This is…"

Lawler came in: "Nine"

"Nine what?" Asked Alistair testily.

"Casualties. And I kicked Baudouin a bit…" Alistair winced: "No, not really. We just kind of… Chatted. And he confirmed madam here's guess."

Bregeth smirked.

"_Madam_" Said Alistair: "… wishes to come with us…"

"Well she could…" Said Lawler carefully.

"And what about my child? Wait, let me get this right… You're agreeing with her?"

"Uh…"

"I don't believe this…"

"Oswyn could look after the child for a few hours… Him being almost local and all, and you could write a message to the Keeper…."

"If I were fully functional, I…" He took a deep breath: "Fine. Bregeth do you write Dalish?"

"Of course, sh…"

"Shut it. Here… Get my writing box. Take this down" He shoved the quill into her hand: " "Dear Keeper, I am taking a small party to Southreach in an attempt to capture Arlessa Habren and put an end to this affair once and for all. I have been unduly pressurised by your most obdurate subject, Bregeth, to include her in my party against my better judgment. I hope I do not live to regret this decision. I have left orders with my remaining troops that they should endeavour to assist the settlement to the best of their ability. Should something befall me please ensure that my child is well looked after. I am leaving her with ser Oswyn of Dragon Peak. I pray that this letter finds you as well as circumstances permit and I thank you for your assistance this night. Yours… ""

"You go too fast…" Muttered Bregeth

"Yes, I am a quick child…"

"While you two bicker…" Said Lawler: "I'll be outside doing something useful…"

* * *

The walk to Southreach was tortuous. Alistair did not want to complain too much because he was aware that Lawler, Bregeth and the five soldiers who had volunteered to accompany them had been through as much as he had, and he also recognised that he was the author of some of his own discomfort. But Baudouin's armour hurt him in parts he never realised he had. Yes, they were approximately the same width and the same size but a good suit of armour is always a tailored to its wearer's own physical idiosyncrasies and, generalities apart, Baudouin was obviously quite differently shaped to Alistair. He tried to keep talking to Bregeth distract himself from the snagging of the loose cuisses on this thighs and the pinching of the rerebraces on his upper arms.

"Where in the castle will she be? Don't you think she'll be abed?" He asked Bregeth hopefully.

Bregeth, who somehow before leaving camp had managed to acquire a sword and was pacing very comfortably with it slung casually over her shoulder. "She is a child, Alistair, and this will be very exciting for her, she will be up and about and so will her household."

"That may be bad"

"Not necessarily. She will be the excited one, her people are more likely to be tired and jittery, possibly careless, and that might give us some advantages…"

Dawn was about to break as they came to Southreach Castle.

Lawler who had dressed in a guard's uniform approached the gate dragging Bregeth in his wake. "Look what I caught me!" he said "Now we can all have some fun! Baudoin sent me ahead and I thought I'd bring you this little pressie, but better hurry up before he gets here…"

From his hiding place Alistair thought Bregeth was quite convincing as on her knees she shrieked and begged. The two guards approached Lawler warily at first but then with more enthusiasm as Bregeth's voice rose in alarm.

"Just look at her…" Said Lawler waving to Bregeth on the ground as they drew near them and they did. That was a mistake because within a few seconds Lawler had his knife at one of the guard's throat, whereas Bregeth, having grabbed the other from below one hand behind his ankle the other at his calf, pulling the one and pushing the other, had, very efficiently, landed him on his back.

"Right now for the next part…" said Alistair.

* * *

They had swarmed round the front gate shouting "Victory!" and "We've won!" waving torches, and it had opened for them far more easily than if they had attempted to storm their way through. Alistair, gravely silent, in Baudouin's armour and attempting to imitate his slightly bow legged, straight-backed walk added a final touch of conviction. It struck him that it had been a piteous waste of time for them all to have memorised the layout of the castle when all they had to do was follow the small if enthusiastic groups of jubilant retainers running slightly in front of them who were gamely showing them the way.

He didn't often wear a helmet indoors and he was certain that neither did a show off like Baudouin, and was beginning to find the very limited visual field it afford him in an excitable and unfamiliar environment quite frustrating. Not that anyone in the happy crowd around him seemed to think that was in any way awry. He was certain that at one point he had seen Lawler, who was just ahead of him, grab a stray servant girl by the waist and plant a kiss full on her lips, he would have liked to have got a better look at that, but his current role did not allow him to. He was therefore quite grateful to Bregeth who behind him where she was pretending to cower and grabbing at his arm muttered: "Nearly there now, Your Majesty, not much longer…"

They eventually rounded a corner and came almost immediately to a large double door. Alistair extended his arms to push them open in what he hoped was a forceful fashion only to have them open before him from the other side. Recovering quickly he began to do his best Baudouin stride down the hall followed by the others, towards the figure he could see at the end of it. There was a sudden hush at the door and then one of the gate guards who had obviously gotten fully into his role yelled: "Arlessa, we are victorious!" A brief cheer followed.

Alistair came within a few feet of Habren and then stopped dead. She was tiny, barely coming up to the middle of his chest. And she had shiny reddish hair, pale beautifully smooth skin and a very pretty, pouty doll's face. He had seen her somewhere before, he was sure but he was unable to place her… She looked up at him and shamelessly batted her eyelids. She was wearing a very clingy silk shift in pink and blue. Even through the limitations of his visor he suddenly became aware that his height gave him an excellent view of her décolletage. His mouth unexpectedly went dry. He remembered his dead dog and reached for his sword.

Bregeth dropped discreetly to her haunches behind Alistair.

Then Habren clapped her hands and in a lilting mellifluous voice said: "Why Baudouin, at last you have guessed my heart's desire! You have brought me a gift… Come out little elf" She said beckoning to a spot somewhere behind Alistair: "Don't be afraid, I'm only going to play with you…"

Struck by confusion, Alistair nearly turned around to ask what was happening, what it was he had missed.

Behind his legs, Bregeth lifted her face: "My" said Habren: "You are a bit ugly though, Baudouin, I'm somewhat disa…"

And then there was rush to his left as a shape that Alistair belatedly recognised as Bregeth streaked passed him and with a cry of: "Take that shemlen WHOREBITCH!" punched Habren in the face, knocking her off her feet. Her head hit the stone floor with an audible crack.

Then they were all silent again. Except for Habren who was on the ground in front of him moaning, her nose probably broken, Bregeth standing menacingly over her, incandescent with rage.

Eventually it was Lawler who broke the silence: "Wow!" He said somewhere from behind Alistair: "Girl fight…"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dragon 9:34 Eluvista/Cloudreach Ferventis/Justinian

Southreach/Brecilian Forest/Fort Drakon

He was woken by Bregeth sitting on the bed carrying his baby. "Lawler says you should consider getting up now." Then she held her out to him: "See, she is safe."

Alistair groaned and put his hand up to his eyes because the brightness was hurting them. Then he tried to sit up: "Ow!" and lay back down again. "I can't get up…" he said unnecessarily.

Bregeth looked down at him: "Well I am hardly surprised… I see bruising, lots of bruising and… Scars. My, my… we have been a busy boy. A warrior's torso, who would have thought…"

"Bregeth, I have been fighting since I was 16… Hey, did you just show me some appreciation?..." He paused: "Anyway, about yesterday, I can understand you were in a bad situation…"

"I think I shall help you up." She interrupted him and tucking Niamh into the sling, she placed a surprisingly strong arm behind his shoulders and levered him upwards into a sitting position. "There" she said and handed him the child.

Alistair went to kiss her and stopped: "Gosh… She stinks." But he kissed her anyway and started laughing: "I must stink too…" He handed her back to Bregeth who took her and wrinkled her nose.

"She needs changing." Bregeth got up: "I must show you how to do that sometime. Perhaps you should get some pretty young serving wench to apply some salve to your bruises… After your bath. Or Lawler, he would do it…"

* * *

The Keeper had been crying. It was making Alistair feel really embarrassed, first because he couldn't help thinking how she looked even prettier with her eyelashes matted by tears, second and, very disturbingly, because she had began to remind him of Neriya… a lot.

And third because they were both standing in front of the whole of the population of the Elven settlement and not a few from his party when she had turned to him put her face to his chest, grasped his upper arms and began to sob very loudly. Not knowing what else to do he had limited himself to patting her on the back. Well, it worked with the baby sometimes.

"What a sentimental fool you must think I am, to cry like this, at my age…" She said swiping fiercely at her eyes.

"Not at all. I've been doing quite a lot of that myself these two days past…"

* * *

At least that was true.

Shortly after getting up he had visited the injured, well that hadn't been so bad, they had seemed pleased to see him or perhaps it was the bottles of wine he was carrying with him salvaged from the well-stocked cellars of Southreach. Whatever Habren or Baudouin had been, they hadn't apparently been heavy drinkers. All to the good, that. The fact that the resident healer had followed him around tutting loudly as he had poured cups of the stuff had made it all the more fun.

Then the more serious stuff had started. Despite his right arm being in a sling ("Just a sprain, Your Majesty", the healer (male) had sniffed) with Oswyn's help he had attempted to make a sort of record of the life of each of those who had passed away. This he then used to write a letter to their loved ones.

That had been bad enough of itself. But the one who had gotten to them most was the one of whom his apparent best mate had said:

"Well ya see, ya Majesty, he didn't really talk much… I called him Dibs… Na, I don't know where he was from, not sure what his surname was either…"

When he and Oswyn had gone to pay the late Dibs a visit in the cellar where he had been respectfully laid out by the healer's assistant, they had discovered quite a good looking young man of approximately Habren's age. Surprisingly, Oswyn had choked up first putting out a tentative hand to touch the dead lad's hair.

"Can't help thinking…" said Oswyn "that he would have made someone very happy… and someone somewhere will be missing him."

"Could have been either of us…" said Alistair rubbing his eyes with his palms: "… not so long ago."

And then there had been a few unpleasant decisions to take.

"Keep her in her own cell. Absolutely no mistreatment. Simple clothes, plain food, as much water as she wants and one cup of wine a day, should she want it. Nothing else. We'll take her to Denerim. I don't want to set eyes on her… As for Baudouin, Lawler, if you're satisfied you've gotten everything we need about this affair from him and I do mean everything, since he's not a subject… hand him to the Keeper. Let her decide."

Contrary to what had been his usual habit of late, Alistair had retired early that evening, played a little with Niamh, allowed Bregeth to teach him how to change a nappy (just to please her, of course) and gone to bed before midnight.

* * *

The next morning just after dawn, they had held the cremations, by the riverbank. Alistair had arrived a little earlier with the intention of burying Meat under his favourite tree but what with the sprained arm and the hard ground he had found it quite difficult. Lawler had helped him and then tactfully wandered off while Alistair laid a bone and an handful of marbari crunch next to the hound and quietly told his dog that they would see each other again one day in the Fade.

When the pyre was lit he found tears coming for the third time in two days, but, of course, he told himself, it was just the smoke. It was also helpful that he could pull the hood over his face and bow his head. When he glanced from under it he saw that everyone around his was doing the same with the exception of Bregeth who, head uncovered, was standing very straight her face rigid as if it were carved in ironbark while his child whimpered against her chest.

Once the pyre had been extinguished as the senior person present he had scooped up some of the ashes with his bare hands and placed them in the nine little leather pouches to be sent, together with the letters to each person's loved ones. The remaining ashes were then cast into the river. He kept the ninth pouch himself, in the hope that one day someone would come to Denerim asking after a certain Dibs.

* * *

They had then moved on to the settlement. Where he and his party, all clad in black discovered that the Elven colour of mourning was white. He had walked as respectfully as he could followed by Lawler, Bregeth and his child, between the orderly files of the Elven dead who had been covered with flowers, plants and other offerings prior to burial. Black or white, cremation or interment, at least the grief and the tears were all the same. And then, just before they were lowered into the ground, the Keeper had cried.

Not long after they had been covered, someone had began to hand out tiny cups to everybody. Alistair had held his out to the Keeper questioningly. The Keeper who seemed to have made a quick recovery had winked at him and said:

"I'll think you'll like this part, Alistair, especially since I've heard that some of you complained that our beer was weak."

"That wasn't me…" said Alistair who had just noticed that several young elves dressed in pure white bearing jugs had began pouring a clear liquid into every adult's cup. His was filled next to last and the Keeper's the last.

Then the Keeper stood and faced her people, held up her cup and shouted at the top of her lungs: "ANETH ARA!" and downed the drink in one go.

Everybody then did the same as did Alistair. Half choking he looked at the Keeper who clapped him heartily on the back. "What… is… this stuff?"

"We call it water of life, so naturally, we tend to drink it at funerals… Don't feel embarrassed about choking on it, it is your first time. I underwent special Keeper training to learn how to do just that. We are welcoming the recently dead back to life. Life followed by death, followed by life again."

"Ah" It seemed a bit much to take on board at that point, so he did what he always did and stuck to what gave him immediate pleasure: "Can I have some more, please?"

Apparently it was also customary, once the drinking had begun, to tell jokes and funny stories about both the living and the dead. After a few cups more, the Keeper said to Alistair: "I may have found you another wet nurse…"

"And why would you want to do that…"

The Keeper shrugged but she couldn't avoid looking over the crowd to where Bregeth appeared to be eyeing them intently: "Well, you know, Bregeth is Bregeth…"

"Yeah, I know…" said Alistair following the Keeper's gaze, and then very loudly: "I like her so much that I think I'll make her my latest mistress when I get back to Denerim… Buy her loads of pretty frocks in bright colours and such. She'll love it… Cheers!"

The Keeper giggled: "Yes, I'm sure she will. Cheers!" and they knocked cups.

"Does he ever stop talking?" Said Bregeth who was already on her third cup and showed no signs of intoxication, to Lawler who was standing next to her.

"No never. Not even in his sleep… Please don't ask me how I know that…"

About two hours later when the festivities were really under way and firm memories likely to be few, Bregeth approached one of her Elders and drew back the sling so he could see the baby. He looked and nodded. She told him some of the things that had happened in the last few days.

"And then he said: "A star, a bloody star, one of those shiny things!…"

She saw a tug at the corner of the Elder's mouth, he was not well known for his sense of humour. "That is a good line, I am sure I can find a place for it somewhere…"

"I swore to the Keeper and by Andruil that I will serve him and the child and I intend to do that…"

"Of course you will, but do not doubt for a moment that you will be missed…"

* * *

"Habren… Habren…"

For a moment she thought someone had called her name and found herself sitting up. She almost lay back down and closed her eyes again, determined not to surrender her dignity to a mere hallucination or to give into her fear. But then she noticed that a patch of darkness in front of her cell, or cage, really, just seemed a little darker, so she remained where she was. Clearly someone was sitting there. She was disturbed, because she was not sure how long this person had been there watching her and wondered how he, for certain it was a he because his outline had something chunky about it, a width females did not usually have, had come in so quietly.

The figure muttered a few words which sounded like a sting of angry curses and then said more audibly: "… You stupid girl…" and then: "You are so young…" She wondered for a moment whether this was not the spirit of her late father come to collect her from the fade because father always swore at her and called her stupid, sometimes even when she had done nothing to deserve it. But this voice was lighter than father's and father would surely know her age, wouldn't he?

As if realising this, the figure bent down, struck a tinder and lit a small oil lamp at his feet, lowered his hood and said to her: "Do you know who I am?"

Habren squinted and then sighed: "You are the King…"

He nodded silently and looked around him at the gloom of Fort Drakon. "This is a frightening place, isn't it?" She wondered whether it looked to him, on the other side of the bars, as dark and oppressive as it did to her. "Did you know I was once held here myself? Perhaps even in that same cage… I was very scared, though I daresay I tried not to show it." There was a long pause, as if he were remembering that time. And then he said: "A lot of men died, Habren, in your little raid, a few women too, thankfully no children, although some lost their parents, of course. I am still trying to clear up the mess you made… All because of you… And they tell me you are barely 19."

Habren remained silent.

The King continued: "The Queen says you should die, so do my advisers, even the ones I respect. The arbiter agreed, I sent your case to an arbiter because I felt I was too closely involved in the facts of it myself to make a fair decision. But he still sentenced you to death, Habren, for treason. You are aware of that, aren't you?"

She nodded and said quietly: "Yes"

"Hanging" said the King: "Is a painful death, or so I am told, but then I've only very rarely encountered one that isn't. I've tried to make it a little less distressing for you…" He laughed bitterly: "As if that were within the gift of any human, King or otherwise…" Then he continued, serious once again: "That's why they weighed you this morning, Habren, so they could calculate the length of the drop required to break your neck at the jolting point, so you don't die slowly of suffocation, jerking at the end of the rope…"

There was a long silence, the King seemed expectant. Finally after a few minutes he leaned forward and said very gently, almost kindly: "Habren, I think this is the part where you get down on your knees and beg me for your life…"

Habren felt a sudden lurch in her stomach and fell forward on all fours, dry heaving and then remembering that she had been refusing food for several days and there was nothing to throw up. She realised there were tears on her face and that she had been crying quietly for quite a few minutes now, she wondered whether he could see them from where he was sitting. In a faint, tiny voice she scarcely recognised as her own she said: "I don't want to die…"

The King looked at her in silence for a moment, sat back, crossed his arms and then said: "Well that is hardly the same thing, is it? … But I guess it will have to do."

Habren hung her head.

"Have you heard of the Grey Wardens?" Habren nodded. "Relations between the order and myself are… Well, not good, really, but I might be able to persuade the Head of the Denerim chapter to recruit you. Would you want me to do this? It would mean that you will not be put to the scaffold in a few hours time… Of course, it might simply mean that your death is only postponed for a handful of months because you do not pass the joining. The joining is very rigorous… Nonetheless, it is hope, of a kind, I think."

Habren nodded again.

"But…" continued the King: "What skills do you have?... No, don't answer that. It's what they call a rhetorical question because I have already conducted enquiries into your background." He started counting on his fingers: "Weapons: None. Combat skills: None. Magic: None. Intelligence, cunning…" He paused: "Not much. There was something about you looking very good in velvet and being generally unkind to your subordinates, though. And something about some missing puppies… Intriguing, but hardly entrance qualifications for a military order. Can you cook, perhaps? Sow? Place a poultice on an open wound? Comfort a dying comrade?"

Habren shook her head and then tried to say something through a very tight throat: "…traach."

The King leaned forward: "What was that?"

"Try" said Habren swallowing hard: "I would try."

The King got up: "Then I in turn shall try to persuade the Warden Commander of Denerim to take you."

He was gone for about fifteen minutes, in the meantime, Habren tried to sit up but she was shaking so hard that she eventually decided that she could not do so and she remained as she was, on all fours on the cage floor.

The King came back accompanied by large man in dark chainmail. He came over to Habren's cage, leant on the bars and looked down at her gravely and critically with arms crossed and soulful brown eyes. She returned his gaze for barely a moment and then looked away, ashamed and confused. From his heavy features she realised he was not a human man but must belong to the race they called qunari. She had never seen a qunari in the flesh before.

After a while, the qunari turned to the King and said formally with a lilting Orleisian accent: "Your Majesty, Alistair Theirin, I wish to exercise the Grey Warden's historical right of conscription, and induct this convicted felon into our order."

The King shot a glance in Habren's direction, and shrugged: "Subject always to what we have discussed, I acquiesce."

The quinari nodded gravely to the King and left.

The King approached her cage and squatted down on his heels to be at her level: "Habren: in a minute they will come and let you out and then you will go with Dummond, he is a good man, as I understand it. But before that happens I feel I should make something very clear to you, very plain. At my request, if you pass the joining, the Wardens will take you to Orlais or perhaps even further. The order has its see at Weisshaupt, in the Anderfels… Habren, you died here this night. You will never return to Ferelden again, you will sever all contact with anybody here in my kingdom. You do understand that, don't you? Never. Should you ever return, do not doubt for a moment that I will have you hunted down and killed. Even if I have to do it myself, I would not hesitate an instant… I can assure you that in my time I have sent more than my fair share of mortal beings to the Fade… You were the direct cause of my having to send a few more… I do not take that lightly."

With that he stood up abruptly, made to brush off his cloak, turned his eyes from her and left the chamber.

* * *

As was his wont whenever he visited Fort Drakon he asked to be taken up to the roof before leaving. Something inside him was deeply satisfied to see that it was a foul and wholly unseasonable night with dark storm clouds roiling above him and a harsh, bitter wind blowing from Dragons Peak as if the faltering spring had been overtaken by winter once again. It fit his mood.

He took the torch from the guard, relieved him of his duty and walked alone towards the black marble roundel he had had set in the roof shortly after his coronation at the spot where they had slain the Archdemon. "Here ended the fifth blight" struck him as nothing less than pretentious now, barely two years after the event. It already seemed a very long time ago. He sat down on the cold stone, on the spot where he should have died, and put the torch down not caring overmuch when the wind extinguished it and carried it away leaving him in darkness once again.

He remembered the Keeper's words on the day of the funerals about two months past and wondered whether there was any consolation to be had in those beliefs. But he was an Andrastrian which, he thought, basically meant that you had just one go, one shot and if you blew it, you blew it, your light extinguished forever. He wondered what Neriya believed, he had never troubled to ask her, come to think of it, he wasn't at all sure she believed in anything transcendental whatsoever.

He thought that one day he should bring his child here. Not with the weather like this of course, but on a nice sunny day. He should explain to her what he, her mother and the companions had done and how they had ended the Blight.

And then later, perhaps over her first drink, he would tell her a far more sombre tale of the other things that had happened. A story of mistakes, shortcomings, weaknesses and disappointments. An explanation, of sorts, of how he came to be King and how, thanks to a shameful act, he had come to live these days that, by rights, should never have been his. He thought about that for a moment, moving his lips, trying to find the precise words. And then he asked himself why he would ever want do such a cruel thing to his own child.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dragon 9:33 Eluviesta/Cloudreach

Denerim

Once she had chosen a dress she had gone to the kitchen and asked for breakfast the cooks had been more than happy to provide her with a dish of oatcake, egg and some bacon which for want of a better place to eat she had taken up to the large bedroom. In daylight the large bedroom looked very empty but freshly decorated as if it hadn't been used much.

On one side there was a burnished copper above a basin surrounded by mostly shaving materials and, thankfully, a simple bone comb, which she used. Someone had come in to make the bed and Neriya asked her if she knew where she could get some hair ties. The girl had looked at her a little strangely but quickly left and returned with a handful of brightly coloured ribbons. Neriya had then began to plait her hair in tight small braids. It was a tedious process but she was quite happy with the end result.

She then set out to look for Alistair, obviously she couldn't ask anybody where is Alistair but she found that asking people, "Where can I find the King?", Also got her some odd looks. Eventually she was directed to the top floor and it was a relief when she saw Lawler stalking up and down in front of a door at the end of a passageway. She wished him good morning and he, looking relieved said: "I'm glad it fits".

Alistair was sitting at a desk in front of a large window quietly scribbling, between several rows of bookcases. The desk was covered with volumes, manuscripts, parchments and scrolls. He looked up as she entered.

"Oh" He said "I forgot that about you. You chose the grey dress."

She stood in front of the desk and he made a motion with his hand and she lifted the hem slightly.

"And the white stockings… Of course. Next time I'll say to you: "Neriya you _absolutely must_ wear the grey dress and those lovely white stockings" and you'll turn up in blue with the red ones, won't you? Ummm?"

"Probably…"

"Hmm. Alternatively I could hide all your other clothes and just leave out the ones I want you to wear."

"You really wouldn't want to try that. Everybody was looking at me in a funny way as it was… So what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Work, that thing everybody's always talking about but no-one actually does… Except for me… I have a meeting with IQ this afternoon and I really don't want to be caught with my pants down…"

"But isn't that the kind of stuff advisors should do?"

"Or councillors…" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Oh, I've just remembered, I named you my councillor two years ago… How convenient… So do tell me, councillor, the Bight decimated agricultural production in the south and it has yet to recover fully. We've had a relatively dry winter so crop yields in autumn are likely to be at their lowest in twenty years, however our population, even accounting for the losses of the Blight, is almost a quarter higher than it was twenty years ago… How do we stop people going hungry in a few months time?"

"Uh, we buy grain from abroad…"

"But from where?"

"Orlais?"

"We're already too dependent on them. They doubled their prices two months ago…"

"The Free Marches?"

"A fragmented nation, we're likely to have to conduct separate negotiations with several of the city states in order to get the amounts we need, that will be time consuming and expensive. If we wanted cover for autumn we should have started haggling already. We haven't. You should also factor in necessary costs and risks of maritime transport… Oh, and did I forget to mention that the treasury is almost drained?"

"So what's the answer?"

He opened his arms: "Well if I knew that… Why, I'd be the Great Archon and not just the humble bastard King of Ferelden…" he added: "Don't get me wrong, advisors, councillors, egg heads and whatnots all have their place but you have to have a grasp of the basic elements of the problem in the first instance in order to be able to understand what they're yakking on about once they get going… And even getting to grips with just that is … a heck of a lot of work" He gestured to a jug on his desk: "Cordial?"

When she shook her head he poured himself a cup some stood and turned to the window.

"There she goes… Late again…"

She went over and stood next to him: "Who?"

He gestured to a small figure in deep purple wielding a fan crossing the courtyard on the opposite side with quick nimble steps.

"Wonder what she was up to last night… Good job I pay her by the piece and not by the hour… Crabbe's advice."

"So who's that then?"

"Casildea, an Antivan painter… You should go pay her a visit sometime, past mid morning of course. Tell her I want her to paint your picture… And my bloody bathroom ceiling…"

Before she left she asked him where the real library was, the one he had boasted about. "In the basement" He replied: "But the opposite side of the building from the bathroom and the kitchen, next to the wine cellar… And don't skip lunch. You need to get back here around four. You can help me carry some of these books and stuff to the meeting room, Councillor."

Neriya curtsied: "It shall be as you command, Your Majesty"

"Yeah right…" He said dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

* * *

Neriya found the library eventually and was stunned to see its sheer expanse, there were at least eleven interlinked chambers and only the first two appeared to be in any semblance of order. They also contained from what she could see the most modern texts. She began her search there.

She turned up on time as ordered. Alistair was leaning back in his chair listening quite comfortably to Crabbe who seemed to be explaining something.

"Well that's your pile." He said when he saw her. It was about three books. "Crabbe's already got his and this is mine."

"Are you really going to use all these books?"

"Probably not but, um, these meetings always make me feel a bit uncertain and you never know what might come in useful…"

So they set off down the corridor.

Just before they entered the room he turned to her and said: "You know, I really do whinge a lot but sometimes these meetings can be… quite fun."

Balancing his books in one hand, he fumbled with the doorknob with the other and pushed the door open with his thigh.

It was a long narrowish room probably intended as a meeting room for more public meetings or audiences but today there were just two plain identical highly polished black timber tables facing each other.

Queen Anora was sitting in the centre of the table opposite and looked up when they entered. There were two middle-aged non-descript men seated either side of her. In little over a year she had changed very little, her face was still smooth and impassive. Its lines perhaps a little more set. Her eyes still cold blue, her lips just so. Apart from a few sheets of parchment there was nothing on her table whatsoever. Neriya wasn't quite sure but it seemed that she smiled ever so slightly when she came in, she wondered whether Alistair had caught it, but by the time she had registered it Anora was looking down at the table in front of her. Alistair sat in the chair immediately opposite Anora, Crabbe sat to his right so Neriya took the chair on the left.

"Welcome councillor, it is good to see you looking so well."

"Thank you" said Neriya softly. She always felt somewhat intimidated by Anora.

"Alistair, could you do the honours, please."

"Certainly." He fixed his gaze on the middle distance: "The rules of these meetings are: One: they are not minuted. Two: all participants are encouraged to speak freely and frankly and express their views whatever their status or the organisation they may be representing. Three: no-one but Anora and myself can act on, use or otherwise divulge the information shared at these meetings, but even if we should do so, we will not identify in any way, the speaker or for that matter the identities of any of the attendees. Four: no one, including myself and Anora, will ever take steps either direct or indirect against anyone for expressing an opinion, providing information or sharing their views at this meeting. Should anyone breach these rules, they will be subject to any such penalty as agreed by Anora and myself."

Alistair turned to Neriya. "It's your first time, councillor, are you alright with this? If you are not, you may excuse yourself and leave now."

Neriya nodded: "I agree."

"Good" Said the Queen, then picking up a parchment that lay on the table in from of her she said: "Before we start today's discussion proper I have to announce that Grand Cleric Elemena, has expressed her concern that her representative is no longer being invited to attend these meetings on a regular basis…"

Alistair opened his hands before him: "Anora, those present, I think you know my views on this. I am an Andrastrian, if not a very good one, but in the Kingdom of Ferelden there are three officially recognised belief systems and, in all likelihood, a multitude of other religions practiced by law-abiding Fereldans that are do not have official recognition. That being the case, I do not think it fair that we give one religion priority over the others when it comes to access to these meetings and the sovereigns…"

"Except, for the fact, Alistair" interjected Anora: "That the Chantry is the more powerful of those faiths, is followed by the majority of our citizens and has historical ties to the monarchy."

"I take your first two points" said Alistair, "but as regards the third, I would remind you that the Chantry actively supported the thirty-year Orleisian occupation of Ferelden before my father, and your father, re-instated the Theirin line to the throne". He paused: "I would therefore describe any commitment they may profess to have to us as, umm, opportunistic at best...". Another pause: "But since I am aware of the pressing need to be diplomatic, I suggest is that we invite the Grand Cleric's representative to a meeting with both of us sometime in the near future to allow her the opportunity to make known all her concerns to us directly and so we, in turn, can make reassuring noises in response. Work for you Anora?"

Anora nodded and then began making a note.

"So, Alistair, what shall we discuss today?"

"Today, Anora, I suggest we discuss… lyrium" He said leaning his elbows on the table and steepling his hands in front of him. There was a pause.

"And why lyrium?"

"Well I don't know, perhaps because it's the most valuable commodity we produce in Ferelden and we're in the middle of an economic crisis?…"

"Lyrium…" Said Anora resting her chin on her hand and looking at him. "Do tell…"

"OK, lyrium in its purest state is an abrasive substance and highly addictive. In its raw form, it will cause anything from serious injury to insanity in humans or elves, and it can kill mages outright. Even diluted in a potion as used by templars or mages it retains its addictive properties… Which might be something to discuss in future meetings…" He paused: "But what I would like to focus on today is its value… I started by saying that it was produced in our Kingdom but of course, it is more accurate to say that all lyrium has its source in the Dwarven realms and, above ground, is monopolised by the Chantry. However, that is not the whole story, considerable amounts of lyrium are being traded outside of this closed shop, possibly as much as 20%, perhaps even more, on the black market…"

"What's your source for this information, Alistair?" Anora interrupted.

"Well, there are my, our, own personal observations, which stem from our four-month sojourn in Orzammar, about two years ago and which I am sure the Councillor here can vouch for, right Neriya?" Neriya nodded feeling vaguely embarrassed.

"But apart from that the most reliable source as a starting point has to be the relevant chapters of Brother Genitivi's "_In Pursuit of Knowledge the Travels of a Chantry Scholar"_… Here you are", He held up a book bound in blue cloth: "A signed edition. Now, as you are aware, Neriya and I know Genitivi. He lives just around the corner. You could say he owes us one, Neriya and I, I mean, or a few… Anyways, about six months ago I went round to his place and we went out for some beers… He's a good type, even though he's a Chantry brother, I won't bore those present with the rest of what we did that evening…"

"Please don't, Alistair. Your extra-curricular activities must be well-known to all those around the table." She glanced at Neriya. Neriya kept her expression blank: "Indeed I wouldn't be surprised if even the illiterate Chasind were familiar with not a few of them or even shared them…"

"No such thing as bad publicity, Anora… Anyway, as I was saying, I asked him if he could recommend someone who had more than a passing familiarity with Dwarven culture and customs who either was already in Orzammar or who would be happy to travel to Orzammar and keep his or her eyes and ears open… So he gave me a name, which I checked with the able assistance of Crabbe here, and, well, you'll recall a few months ago I suggested that we appoint someone to do just that in Orz, to be some sort of commercial attaché, and it was approved at one of these meetings… After he'd settled in I sent him some questions… and got a reply last week. Now, where… Oh yeah, here it is…" He pulled out a letter, from between the pages of one of Crabbe's books and handed it to Anora.

She took it holding it almost disdainfully between her thumb and forefinger and quickly skimmed it. "Can I…?"

"No, I'd like it back, but I can get you a copy in a few days… Thank you."

"So what exactly are you proposing here?"

Alistair leaned back and took a deep breath:

"Basically, stricter enforcement. We attempt to clamp down on all illicit lyrium trading in Ferelden. We step up security around Orz, catch as many of these miscreants as we can. Use the most able of them for our own ends… Perhaps… The upshot being that we make positive use of all the lyrium we manage to confiscate as a result…"

"Speak more plainly." Said the man to Anora's left.

Alistair leaned forward: "We trade it directly for grain."

The adviser sitting to the Queen's right suddenly stopped staring blankly at the table looked up at Alistair with an expression of faint amusement. Alistair pretended not to notice.

"With whom?" Asked Anora.

"With whomever wants lyrium and has grain to offer in exchange… which should be more than half of the sovereign states in Thedas. I'm sure your advisors could rustle up a few candidates if they had to…"

"How would you defend this course of action?" Asked the man to the left.

"We are enforcing the law, we will actually be doing what we should be doing, but more thoroughly. We are removing lyrium from the black market and preventing the funds generated by smuggling from being used to finance further criminal activity or foisting further addiction among our populace. We are penalising those involved… Well some of them, anyway."

The left man nodded.

There was silence for a few moments: "Well this is probably one of the most imaginative proposals you have ever brought to this meeting, Alistair, that may be saying something… It's attractive, I'll grant you that, even if it's slightly… grubby." Neriya got the distinct impression that Anora's remark was supposed to have further implications.

Alistair seemed unfazed: "My dear… Desperate times require desperate remedies… We will be using the lyrium confiscated for the good of Ferelden. We need to do something. Our granaries are running short and not likely to be filled by this year's harvest. Orlais has us by the short and curlies. Our currency is in the toilet because we have exhausted most of our credit lines. I say it's a win-win…"

"And what will you need to do this? Am I right in assuming that this is something you would like to oversee personally?"

"You are. I would need to recruit a few platoons, say two, of well-motivated troops and train them and some, ummm, back-room staff, pen pushers, bureaucrats… You know. I would hope that within a few months the whole operation would begin to pay for itself but start up funds are needed."

"A moment to confer?"

Alistair shrugged: "Of course."

As Anora huddled up with her advisers, Alistair leaned towards Neriya and whispered, "Guy on the right treasurer, on the left, her mouthpiece."

Anora sat up. "We've reached a decision, you can have enough funding for a platoon and a half from the general treasury, for this project of yours. If you need more, you will have to find it yourself."

"Thank you. Well I shall start to put some arrangements in hand from this end…" Suddenly Neriya felt Alistair's foot nudge against hers under the table and then press gently down on it. She looked at him hoping she was not being too obvious, he continued impervious: "In a few weeks time, the counsellor and I will travel to Orzammar to finalise things there… If you are agreeable…"

"I have no objection."

"Thank you."

"Meeting …"

"Hang on" said Alistair "There is one final matter… There was an incident yesterday at the gates…"

"Oh?" replied Anora: "My understanding was that the councillor threatened to send one of our guards to the Fade…"

"Not quite, apparently that was only after he told her to: "get back to the bloody alienage" and "piss off to the tower"…"

"Alistair, this is clearly a disciplinary matter for Captain Kaylon to deal with, I don't know why..."

"Anora, my dearest… Captain Kaylon continues to complain to me about the quality of the recruits he is forced to work with… And he is right, he is given dross and expected to spin it into gold. Now, if we could open up the recruitment of palace guardsmen to all social classes and not just those from privileged backgrounds we might begin to see some improvement…"

"Alistair, you are on your old hobby horse again…"

"Anora, I make these points repeatedly because I believe they are still relevant and nothing is being done to address them…"

"Are you quite finished?"

He sighed: "I guess so…"

"Meeting adjourned, then" Said Anora, rising. Before she turned to leave she looked at Neriya and said: "Councillor, would you be happy to dine with me some evening in the next few weeks?"

"Yes of course…" said Neriya.

"I shall send word then, Alistair…" Anora bowed her head slightly, Alistair did likewise and she left the chamber with her advisors. Alistair began to collect the books and papers without making eye contact with Neriya, even when he handed her her three books to carry back. They made their way back to the study in silence. Once they arrived there Crabbe, who had obviously picked up on the tension between them, made his excuses quickly and left.

* * *

"What was that?"

"A meeting… about lyrium, if I recall correctly…"

"Oh, don't you play the funny with me, Alistair… You know what I mean…"

"I merely said you would come with me to Orzammar in a few weeks time, what is the problem with that?"

"You didn't ask me!"

"Here, have some cordial…" He said, pouring her a cup and handing it to her, as if he hadn't heard her.

Taken aback she reached out for it without thinking… and almost immediately realised she was holding it: "Here, have your cordial back!" she said splashing it all over him: "… And your bloody cup too!…" She aimed for his face but he ducked. The cup hit the windowsill, bounced off and then hit the floor shattering into several pieces.

"Lethal…" Said Alistair and began to laugh, wiping cordial off his face. "You look great when you're pissed off…"

"Why…"

"Always good to let off a bit of steam…"

"ARRRG, I am not playing this game with you anymore… I am…"

With a turn of speed she didn't recall him having he moved to put himself between her and the door.

"No, no, no, no… You don't get to leave. Not right now, anyway. Hear me out. I told you this morning we had to finish our discussion. I admit I wanted to postpone it, for a few days, a few weeks, perhaps a few decades… I can see that is not going to happen, now, it is? There are things between us we need to address and we'll be tussling and at each other's throats until we have it out… Here's what I propose then, this evening. Eight. Over supper. No alcohol. No lovemaking. In turns, bit like the meeting just now… But a tad more amicable. What do you think?"

She nodded.

"Now easy does it. Yikes… Relax your jaw…" He said touching it gently with the tip of his index finger: "I know you could turn me into a pathetic piece of toast any day you wanted to… So I am very carefully getting out of your way now. I am going to go fight with Lawler. Helps me think. You do whatever helps you think and we have an appointment at eight. OK?"

"Yes." She said drawing breath at last: "I think we both need to work out where this went wrong…"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

DA 9:31 Cassus/Haring Denerim

They had sent questions, he had said.

So here they were, she the "Hero of Ferelden" and Ferelden's newly proclaimed King, having rapidly, almost perfunctorily, just made love, on what was supposed to be the best day of their lives, carefully scrutinizing and weighing up a small parchment manuscript containing some ten questions that lay on the bed between them. The whole populace, it seemed, outside the window, raucously celebrating the very recent end of the Blight, at least insofar as they could overhear, while they were engaged in an anxious debate.

"Just how much trouble could we be in?"

His frown told her the whole story before the words left his lips "Potentially a lot."

She didn't ask further about the implications, he didn't need to spell it out. She hadn't spent most of her adult life a captive in the tower under the close scrutiny of the templars not to know what that meant. She remembered the unfortunate ser Jory, there was a lesson there, wasn't there? A lesson writ in his blood spilled on the ramparts of Ostagar, a lesson in ruthlessness and expedience. For what Neriya had done, the penalty was death either physical or spiritual. Daveth was in the same situation, Alistair, well, Alistair was always going to be different, she realised. But Jory? He was innocent, clean, perhaps, not as brave as he should have been, and his wife was with child…

Alistair may have idealised and idolised the Wardens and Neriya staunchly refused to disabuse him of that, it was not her place, but that did not mean she shared his faith in their inherent goodness.

On the small table by the bed stood an open bottle of wine. Part of their cover, like the hasty lovemaking. Alistair had asked for the best from the cellar and to his great distress, they had been brought it. He'd marched up to the room cursing the sommelier's knowledge under his breath and the fact that he had insisted on opening the bottle beforehand. "It needs to breathe, Your Majesty, for about half an hour to be at its peak".

"As if it wouldn't take us more than half an hour to _properly_ make love." He'd said scornfully as he closed the door behind them.

Then things had happened very quickly. He had set aside the wine and thrown her on the bed and removed her small clothes and put his mouth to her. Then when, after coming, she had all but virtually kicked him off her, he had torn off his own clothes and made love to her with a fierceness that she hadn't seen in him for many moons. At some point in the intervening struggle she had tried to get on top of him, and he had said:

"No"

At first she'd thought it was part of the game because he usually enjoyed that quite a bit. But when she persisted he'd grabbed her arms and shouted:

"I said no. No. Not that, got it? Not that..."

Then she'd remembered… Wasn't this a grand day for unfortunate recollections?… Well, it seemed so long ago because so much had happened since Redcliffe.

A little later after their initial heat had burned down and when, in the aftermath, their skin had become clammy and chill and he had wilted in her, he had looked her in the eyes and said:

"You know I love you, right?"

When she had stroked his hair and told him that of course she did, and she loved him too, he had pressed his face to her neck and began to cry.

At least, she reflected bitterly, the witch had kept her word and they were both here, this evening. She, in turn, intended to keep her word to Morrigan, or rather each and every single one of her words, the words she spoke to her in low but sincere and vehement tones at Denerim city gates, out of Alistair's earshot, she hoped.

Every now and then Alistair would throw a longing look in the bottle's direction. Neriya, who really knew next to nothing about wine, had not, if truth be told, been aware until then you could love and pine for a bottle almost as much as you could another person's touch.

Turning back again to the small parchment with its tiny, cramped spider-like script he sighed: "I hate those Orlesian wardens already." He said "I mean, look at this handwriting, they must be painstakingly fastidious or something, why would they ever let people like this become wardens in the first place?"

"The questions are rather good."

"Good. Good, is not what they are, they are tight, tighter than... I won't continue that train of thought, too distracting."

"But at least they sent them in advance…"

"Yeah, right, thank the Maker for that, I say." He said running his hand through his hair.

"What do you mean?"

"I think they're trying to spook us. Like waving the sword a few times above our heads before actually striking us."

"How would you…"

"Come on, already, you're not that stupid, it's what _I_ do. Only for real, in battle, not sneaky metaphorically like these guys… This all just gets better and better…"

"But surely this is preferable to being dead?"

"I don't know what being dead is like, do you?" He said sourly.

"_I_ could be the dead one." She objected.

"There is that, I guess." He paused then and shot her a nervous look. "Much worse, that would be much, much worse. On with it, then."

After they had perused the questions some more, he had shaken his head and said: "It's going to be tough. Extremely tough. We need to agree tonight what we're going to say on certain issues and especially what we're going to say about… Her. Give me a moment will you?" He roughly pulled some of his clothes back on and quietly left the room.

When he came back after about ten minutes his hair was wet and his face very pale. "Right" He said and lay down back on the bed on his stomach beside her : "Methodology: We'll be split up, and possibly there'll be separate interrogation teams but co-ordinated centrally. They'll attempt to adjust the teams to what they see as our character but of course, that'll be subject to the manpower that they'll have to hand which won't be much… They'll want to disorientate us, make us lose our sense of time. I doubt whether there'll be overt brutality but they may deprive us of sleep, food and water if they think we aren't co-operating sufficiently…"

He paused to catch his breath: "Be prepared for threats and taunts, but be especially wary of ingratiating behaviour, gifts, promises, small freedoms, stuff like that… One may present himself as your enemy, the other as your friend but don't doubt for a moment, they are both out to get you… As for their gender, well as I said when I first met you, I'm not aware that there are many female wardens so it's probably safe to assume that they'll all be male…"

"I… How do you know this stuff?"

He turned over on his back crossed his hands behind his head and then after a pause said looking at the ceiling. "Don't forget I was trained as a templar for a while… and a templar's main brief is to control mages… That involves, quite often, hunting down any that may seek to flee or who have already fled, finding out where they might be…"

"Sometimes you worry me…"

"Oh? You can talk, "_Ms turn you into a chunk of ice at the drop of a hat_"…" He paused: "Just to summarize, then: I betray you, it's both our heads on the block. You betray me, it's both our heads on the block. We betray each other…"

Neriya held up her hand: "I think I've got the general idea."

* * *

It was a well-established habit of Konrad's that he only began his briefing when supper was over and the plates cleared away. "As you all know, there are two of them. He is barely 24 and…"

"Ah" said Sagital, "Here we go again…"

"Come on" said Epson, "you know you like it really, Sagi…"

Konrad pursed his lips but otherwise made no acknowledgement of their comments. "… inconveniently for us, has just been proclaimed the King of this dreary backwater. No doubt that will limit considerably the scope of our enquiry. Although he has no immediately apparent powerbase outside of his… heroism. He is, rumour has it, an illegitimate child of the late King Maric Theirin, and half-brother of the recently deceased King Cailan. No-one is quite sure who his mother was. It is not even clear that he ever met his half-brother, but it _is_ clear that he never met either of his progenitors. He was sent away to the care of an uncle. Not only a bastard then…"

Epson grinned widely at the word, showing off lots of even teeth, but Konrad chose to ignore that, too: "But an unacknowledged one. He was recruited by Duncan, just before the beginning of this Blight, little over two years ago."

"She is an elf, a mage, and, as is usual in these circumstances, her precise age and parentage are completely unknown. She was taken to the tower as a child and presumably received the standard training." Konrad glanced briefly at his own healer's staff that lay in front of him on the rough wooden table, within easy reach: "She was harrowed about the same time he was recruited, got into some hot water, and was then conscripted by Duncan approximately a year and a half ago. Straight from the tower"

"Ostagar… These two were the sole grey warden survivors. Apparently because they were sent by Duncan to the tower of Ishal and were not on the main battlefield where, as we know, he and King Cailan were to perish. Not entirely a surprising decision because of their newness to the order, though there may have been other factors at play… "

"Ooooh" Said Sagitel: "Did King Cailan know then?"

"Possibly."

"And Duncan?"

"Again: Possibly."

"And then begins an epic tale…"

"So therefore", said Konrad a few hours later in summing up: "Our first priority is to find an explanation for what happened, or rather didn't happen, at Fort Drakon. Our second… and this is almost not a priority at all, is to explore the relationship that has developed between them, which is of itself a breach of discipline, if minor and not infrequent… I have a hunch, though, that it could be that the second which provides the key to the first."

Once Konrad had sent the others to bed, Pryce turned to his old friend and said: "Konrad, you never tell them the whole story do you?"

Konrad left cheek twitched slightly: "Of course I don't. It's more fun like that for the children. They can then go play with less constraints and bring me titbits of information which they hope will impress me..."

"Don't you ever have any qualms about doing what you do, Konrad?" The smaller man asked.

Konrad shrugged: "It so happens that I do it well."

"Yes, you do, but that was not my question…"

"It's a job. Someone has to do it."

"But it's…"

"What, inhumane, low, brutal, deceitful, dishonest? Of course it is… but we are grey wardens now Pryce, not Chantry lyrium-addled drones, do gooders or white fucking chevaliers, not even idealistic rebel mages. Those days are behind us and the sooner you can remind yourself of that, the better." He took a sip of his wine and scowled: " We are all of us, dirty, and some of us are up to our necks in filth and shit… Myself not the least of them. But we are here to get a job done and we do it…"

"But…"

"No let me finish. Our job, ironically, is to keep people in line, within certain constraints, of course. And I have never had a graver assignment on my plate than this. You do realise don't you that there may be an Archdeamon out there still? Festering in some Maker forsaken blasted backwater, biding its time… It is the exchange, Pryce, the restoration of balance that has gone awry here. At the end of the day a Warden, any Warden, is nothing but a vessel, and that is almost his sole value, to be a vessel that when broken has the power and the potential to end a Blight. Warden slays the Archdeamon's physical form, Archdeamon's spirit blasts out, enters Warden, knocks the living soul out of him or her. Balance restored… But where, Pryce, is our dead warden here?"

* * *

He woke her the next morning when he came into the room, after it all they had managed some hours of fitful sleep. "I've already spoken to Anora… She's a morning person like me…" He sounded vaguely surprised: "I told her my intention was to be her husband in every sense of the word…" There was a long pause: "I think I just lied."

He sat down at the end of the bed with his back to her: "Maker, if I had only known when all this kicked off that I would be physically bandied about like some… insentient beast… some stud, valued only for my seed… Frankly, I'd rather slay the Archdaemon all over again, with a few Broodmothers thrown in for good measure…"

She crawled from between the warm bedclothes, put one arm over his shoulder and kissed the nape of his neck. "I love you" She said: "And I love you because you're you and no-one else." He took a deep breath and she added: "I've been thinking about this. We've been through worse, the spider queen, remember her? The High Dragon, Fort Drakon?"

"Yes" He said: "Yes, but it just never seems to end…" He sighed: "Anyways, same old routine… Survival first, moral quibbling and self-pity, afterwards…" He turned: "Get dressed, pretty one, it's gone nine. Get dressed and help me with this letter to Eamon, our lives may depend on it… Oh…" he added "And you owe me twenty-five silver."

They had placed bets on when the Wardens would come, Neriya had said dawn, Alistair, dusk.

"Another thing occurs to me…" She said as she started getting dressed, stepping into her fresh smallclothes: "… perhaps we should send a message to Wynne at the tower…"

"Wynne, why ever would we want to get her involved in this mess?"

"We need all the help we can get, silly, and Wynne…"

"And how possibly could Wynne assist…"

"Wynne, Alistair. Wynne, who Chief Enchanter Irving falls over himself to accommodate, Wynne who is more battle-hardened that both of us together, Wynne who has already lived twice as long as either you or I ever will, and has probably spent more than half of that life playing catch me with the Templars to earn her freedom… and besides…" She said pulling a robe on over her head: "She _likes_ you, Alistair, she really does…"

"I know…" He said blushing faintly: "But not in that way… It's entirely maternal. I hope…"

"Agreed then."

After writing the letters they spent the remainder of the day in aimless apathy, occasionally, rehashing out loud their version of events. Alistair ordered a hearty meal but neither of them could really muster the stomach for it. Neriya found a book somewhere but simply couldn't get beyond the first few lines. Alistair pulled out a set of rune die and began listlessly throwing them on the table, perusing them, collecting them and casting them once again…

Neriya was about to tell him to stop because it was beginning to get on her nerves when the summons came.

They both stood and automatically began to check each other over as they used to before battle. They were both wearing plain clothes, lots of them, and warm… They took no weapons, Alistair had sent Starfang to Eamon with the letter, although Neriya kept her staff because it was as much a symbol of her status as a weapon.

Then they kissed deeply and passionately, another pre-battle habit, making no concessions to the impatience of the waiting guards, surrendering themselves fully to the embrace. When they had finished, Alistair tossed the corner of his cape over his left shoulder took Neriya by the hand and led the way.

They reached the top of the palace steps and paused looking down for a moment on the four hooded figures below who had come to collect them, bearing torches to break up the darkness. They then descended, still holding hands, Alistair slightly in front. When they got to the foot of the staircase Alistair said:

"Good evening."

"Good evening" Replied one of the figures in turn and lowered his hood. "Are you the grey warden Alistair Theirin?"

"Yes"

"And you are Neriya Surana also a grey warden?"

"Yes" She echoed.

"I am Konrad, the leader of this party and temporary Warden Commander of Ferelden." He was a large man, past middle age, bald, who still bore some remnants of bodily strength about him; strange in a mage, but he had seem better times. Neriya noticed he had a healer's staff on his back: "This is Pryce" a small pale faced also middle-aged man with flat red hair parted on one side, who bore, as Neriya, the staff of a destruction mage. "Dummond" A young qunari in full armour with heavy but regular features and corn rows, by far the largest of the group, "… and Epson" A man in his mid twenties dressed in black leather with shoulder-length, unevenly cut hair and sharp hard brown eyes. No-one made any motion to shake hands.

"By the power invested in my by the First Warden you are both ordered to accompany us to our chapter house here in Denerim."

Alistair said: "We surrender willingly to your authority…"

Konrad nodded. "Are you carrying any weapons or arms?"

"Only my staff" Said Neriya.

"You can keep that for the time being" Said Konrad: "But you will have to hand it over once we arrive at the chapter house."

"I understand" Replied Neriya.

The wardens drew up their hoods. Konrad said, "You may cover yourselves"

"No" Said Alistair pulling himself up straight, his grip on Neriya's hand tightening slightly: "We would rather not."

Konrad sighed: "Release at least your hands."

Alistair reluctantly let go of Neriya's hand, pulled out some gloves from his belt, put them on and clasped his hands behind the small of his back. Neriya did likewise.

They set off the wardens forming a square around them Alistair and Neriya trudging between them. As they left the courtyard, Neriya shivered. The cold hit them full blast in the face and she suddenly felt dwarfed standing between so many tall men. Alistair looked at her with concern.

"Snow do you think?"

"Possibly…" She replied

"This is not the kind of evening even I would usually choose to be abroad in…"

"How far is it?" She asked him.

"About half a mile in that direction… I've only been there once or twice before…"

The marketplace was sad and deserted at night but not entirely empty or silent. There were a few drunks and night trade folk or some people who had just miscalculated and had been caught out by sudden nightfall. At one point their party crossed with a city watch patrol who stopped in surprise upon recognising them. Alistair calmly nodded and bid them good evening and they moved on, but not without casting inquisitive glances behind them, watching as the man with the golden hair and the woman with the silver were slowly swallowed up by the gloom.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

DA 9:31 Cassus/Haring Denerim

Pryce and Dummond were assigned to Neriya. Epson and Sagital to Alistair. They started shortly before dawn.

Epson had spent a fair few hours the night before buffing her plate-mail to an eye-piercing sheen. So when she sat down in the chair immediately facing Alistair his gaze could not but follow the shimmering flow her body from up to down. His mind Immediately likening it to the current of a river.

"I am Sagital" she said: "And you must be Alistair…"

"I see…" He said and then collected himself: "Yes, that's me…"

She had an abundance of long, black, wavy hair. Very regular features, spectacular eyelashes, bright azure eyes, good cheekbones, and her mouth… Well. One of the lowest parts of him, one that he usually managed to suppress quite easily, began to whisper to him that one day her really, _really_ should go to Orlais if only to check out if the women were all like Leliana or Sagital here…

"Sorry, just a bit surprised. But I thought women who engaged in melee combat tended to be rogues…"

"Oh" Said Sagital: "I did start off as a rogue but then I… Diversified."

* * *

They began with the basics:

"22, or perhaps 23?…"

"24"

"I… A friend betrayed me… I tried to help him escape the tower and we were caught… Well, I was…"

"I was training to be a templar in the Chantry in Redcliffe. One day Duncan came by recruiting for the Wardens."

"Male. No. In fact it was because he said he was in love with someone else and that there were plans to make him tranquil… He said"

"Five or six years. No. I really wanted to leave. I was happy to become a Grey Warden. Proud."

"I was frightened. Daveth died. Jory… died too."

"I didn't see I had much choice. Things were going pear shaped in the south by then. This was, is, my country. I wanted to help. Two of us, only one died. Yes, I was apprehensive, but in a way I welcomed it…"

"At Ostagar."

"Ostagar"

"I was happy with it, clearly he was not. But that was to be my first experience of battle and he seemed to have considerably more experience that I. And he's… as he is, he actually enjoys fighting…"

"Pissed off, frankly. Very pissed off, but in the event, it turned out to be quite a challenge…"

"I don't recall very clearly, I woke up when he started shaking me…"

"Really difficult to say … Something happened once we had lit the flame and then there was, umm, blankness for a while…"

"Well, I didn't know my way about at all and he suggested we go to Redcliffe but we stayed a few days in Lothering as it was on the way…"

"I was brought up in Redcliffe…"

"I was surprised that he would defer to me. But it seemed I was more comfortable with it…"

"You know, I'm actually pretty good at taking orders and she seemed to be good at giving them so…"

"Why… About two months after Ostagar."

"Uhm, we saved the mages in the tower… I and the others got trapped in the Fade for a while, she got us all out, single-handedly, Maker knows what that involved. I admired that, but it also made me realise this was serious we could die at any time. In fact, I suppose you could say I was dead for a few hours… Again. She was too good to miss so I… asked her if… and..."

"I was a virgin."

"I hadn't done it before…"

"No."

"No…"

* * *

After a break, things got a little sharper.

"So Neriya, said Pryce: "Your best friend in the tower betrayed you, he was human and male, and seemed to have more awareness of, oh I don't know, the realities of life than you did… And he left you in the toilet… I mean surely you must ask yourself why it wouldn't happen again? Perhaps it already has?"

"Why would you think that…"

"Well here we are, aren't we? One of you should be dead… And you're saying that you were the one in charge?"

"Yes, most of the time…"

"And you're the mage, I mean there was some kind of magic failure here, some kind of counter spell, wasn't there? He's not one of us so it must be down to you? If I were you I'd find that worrying…"

"You may have a point, but I don't know exactly what you're getting at… Your questions doesn't seem to be very specific…"

Dummond intervened: "I don't know anything about magic either, but perhaps what happened just happened… Or didn't…"

* * *

"This templar stuff, it means you don't get to have sex, doesn't it?" Asked Epsom.

"I believe the requirement is defined as chastity…"

"Well, isn't that the same thing?"

"There's a difference between chastity and virginity, actually."

"But in your situation, not having done it until the age of, wait, 22, isn't it… Gosh, a bit late to pop your cherry that, especially for a pretty boy like you… It would amount to the same thing."

"Yes."

"So basically, you left the Templars for the Wardens to have sex…"

"No. It's not that simple, I've…"

"Epson, he has already told us why he joined…" Sagitel touched Alistair's arm: "Actually, I find it quite sweet…"

* * *

After a meal around midday they held the first debrief.

"So?" asked Konrad.

Pryce started: "She's hiding something… I don't know what it is, I mean Neriya, she's nice, bit cold, like all mages really, but straight… but there's something there…"

"Dummond?"

"I agree. I get the impression she's protecting him."

"Epson?"

"It's sex."

"Oh Epson, you always say that, always, always…" Said Sagital.

"That's because it always _is_ sex!"

"I think Epson needs an interpreter, allow me. Yes he is sensitive about sex but, we have two late starters here. Men are more thin-skinned when it comes to that… He blushed and I only touched his arm… but we did not explore his protectiveness … it may also be premature to draw a conclusion linking the Fort Drakon incident to their relationship."

"You all know how I like to work here. We must be in lock-step. Epson, Sagital, protectiveness, all, the companions right? Now, special emphasis on the outsiders and the mages. I mean Ogren, Leliana, Morrigan, Zevren, Wynne, Sten… See if we can do a run through this afternoon. Note not only the information they give about them but also their reactions to them, that will tell us more about Neriya and Alistair."

* * *

"Burping appeared to be his idea of a sophisticated conversation… But in his way he was very knowledgeable, and great with an axe"

"I wish I could swear as inventively as he could … And he was always pissed but functional. Lucky sod."

"Very severe, detached, oh, and argumentative. He had a way of turning your own points against you that was quite incisive."

"Great fighter but not very approachable… He didn't like banter, didn't seem to get it…"

"I really admire her. She always seemed to be in control and calm… And under that, well, she was strong. The strongest of us all."

"… She could be a bit naughty. I mean, she'd tease me and tell me off for not repairing my own shirts, things like that. But I owe her my life, like, hundreds of times over… All of us do."

"She was… Looking for something. Looking for something to fight for, to give her life a sense of purpose, a cause… Perhaps love."

"Leliana? Mad as a box of crickets but, much, much prettier…You know, she had this whole Orleisian bard, courtesan, seductress thing going for her…"

"First he tried to kill me, then he tried to bed me, then… We became friends and he was still trying to bed me, but it seemed to me more out of habit, a sort of reflex rather than genuine passion. In between times, he was always telling me these weird, racy, stories. He talked almost as much as Alistair…"

"Yeah, he tried to kill her, all of us really, and she forgave him… I still have trouble getting my head around that. Oh, and before you ask, yes, I felt threatened, he was another elf, she'd forgiven him… He was clearly trying to get his leg over her and then… _I_ felt threatened, personally, well a teeny bit, playing with both decks… That was our Zev"

"She was useful but opinionated. And not in a good way like Sten. She seemed so unforgiving of any weakness, or anything she perceived as weakness, which actually in not the same thing.

"Couldn't stand her. She couldn't stand me. Always carping and criticising. Arrogant. Somedays I wished I could slap her. I really regret I never did."

* * *

"So Alistair: Neriya, you agree she was the boss, the dominant one…" said Sagital smoothly.

"Mostly…"

"Then anything that happened, anything that went wrong and especially anything involving magic would really be her responsibility, don't you think?"

"That's simplistic… We're all adults and ultimately responsible for our own actions, or lack of them… It doesn't matter who's giving the order or making the request, if you're following it and you know it's wrong, that's your responsibility and no-one else's."

* * *

Konrad invited Sagital to share the meal with him and Pryce that evening:

"Yes" she confirmed: "He's seeking to protect her too… Comparing their comments on their companions. It's quite interesting… His reactions are much more emotional than hers, I liked this, didn't like that… Hers are more practical, more analytical, she goes more into their motivations far more than he does."

"The difference between a leader and a follower, perhaps?" Said Pryce.

"Maybe, but maybe it's not only a question of character but of perspective…" Replied Sagital.

"So" Said Konrad: "If we were to apply emotional pressure he would be more responsive to that but on the other hand she would be more receptive to logical argument… Well, that's some sort of progress. Oh yes, and I have a piece of news, I received a letter from the queen today…"

He passed it to them and Sagital and Pryce bent over it:

"Why" said Pryce: "If it were a little less tepid…"

"It would be covered in frost…" finished Sagital.

"Late session tonight. Yes, I apologise, never popular, but one way or another, I anticipate this will be over fairly quickly. Think about it, if you are tired, they are even more tired and this might allow you to make some headway and then you'll finish sooner and be able to get some rest… I need you to cover the last few days: Redcliffe to Fort Drakon."

* * *

"We were at Redcliffe when we heard that the horde was heading for Denerim… Riordan told us, he said he'd listened in. We decided we had to try and stop them… Riordan asked to speak with us alone… We both went up to his room and then he told us… That only a Warden could ultimately slay the archdemon and that it would be at the expense of his or her life."

"Wait. You didn't know this before that day at Redcliffe, Neriya?" asked Dummond.

"No, I didn't"

"And that was…?"

"What? …Oh about ten days before slaying the beast."

"Did Alistair?"

"No."

"How do you know he didn't?"

"He would have told me…"

"Are you sure?"

"Oh for the… yes. Look I need to pee and I need to sleep."

"Answer the question and I'll escort you to the toilet…"

"As for sleeping… Not yet." Intervened Pryce.

"He told me all the bad things early on…"

"What bad things?"

"The increase in appetite, the nightmares, the effects on fertility, the reduced lifespan…"

"When did he tell you this…"

"No. Toilet now. I've answered your question…"

While Neriya was out of the room. Pryce went and tapped on the door of the room where Alistair was being interrogated and had a quick heads down with Sagital. Alistair had apparently also already mentioned that he did not know that killing the Archdeamon would spell death for the grey warden delivering the fatal blow until the conversation with Riordan. They both agreed that this could be significant to Konrad's first priority. Neriya returned with Dummond:

"Thank you. We were at Lothering, look, Alistair Theirin can't keep his mouth shut for love or money. Especially for love. So if he'd known about this, he would have told me. He went through this period of drip, drip, dripping this Grey Warden stuff on me… I think he was trying to see how I reacted to it all. Some weird, Alistair, pre-courtship, kind of testing of the waters. In the first few weeks after Ostagar he told me that I was eating like a pig and I told him to shove it and then he explained the appetite thing and gradually all the rest… Plus he was as surprised as I was when Riordan told us…"

"How could you tell?"

"Oh for the love of the Maker! He went still, he went pale… I have been laying the guy for almost two years now… I read him. I _read_ him in that room in Arl Eamon's estate. His first thought was, "This is fucked"… His second: "I'm the one to do it…" He can be such a transparently macho idiot in that way…"

"And how did that information make you feel, Neriya?"

She sighed: "How do you think, Dummond? It made me feel physically sick… like someone had kneed me in the stomach. And before you bother asking: I do know how that feels… Even though Riordan had reassured us that he would take the blow. Riordan was great, he did what he could… but I am no fool, so many things could go wrong, I'd seen brave people, good people, people just in the wrong place at the wrong time, die… After all we had done, it seemed that at least one of us was going to die."

Both Alistair's and Neriya's accounts of the slaying of the archdeamon overlapped considerably. Whereas Alistair was happy to agree he was the nearest to the archdeamon when it died, he also pointed out that while he was striking it Neriya was casting so neither of them were able to determine who actually delivered the killng blow.

"Does it matter?" Asked Alistair.

"Isn't it possible that we both struck the final blow?" Asked Neriya.

Pryce thought Neriya's question was particularly good.

They went to bed at around 2:00 am and Konrad scheduled a meeting with Pryce and Sagital the next meeting at around 8:00 after a quick breakfast.

* * *

Konrad pondered the Redcliffe question.

"It does shorten the timescale in which they could do something considerably… Between Redcliffe and Fort Drakon there is little more than a week… And not an empty one for them at that…"

"Is what they say credible knowing Duncan?" Asked Sagital.

"I think so. He was always quite careful not to break all of the bad news up front. It makes sense, people tend to be traumatised after the joining. The last thing you want to do is overload them with bad news."

"You gave _me_ all the bad news fairly quickly, Konrad" Sagital pointed out with just a hint of resentment.

"And what kind of life had you had before the joining Sagital? Everything I told you about the grey wardens, however unpalatable, was an improvement on almost anything that had come before, was it not?"

"I guess so…"

"I thought you would appreciate my refusing to patronise you after all you had been through… Anyway, back to our task, these two… They were relatively comfortable, he in the Chantry she in the tower, they had a place, a status, modest, but nonetheless, Duncan would not want to shock them too soon and perhaps risk losing them. In any event, since Ostagar beckoned what was the point? They might not even survive… We may be able to do a rough check. Ask them what they know of the effects of the taint. Drop it in the middle somewhere between the other things. Redcliffe to Fort Drakon again. Aggressively. And finally, another day, another letter, received early this morning. A bit more effusive than the last."

"Who is it?" Asked Sagital taking the letter Konrad was proffering her.

"The uncle, a fairly high ranking noble. Kingmaker, I suspect. His power and influence will accrete proportionately if the lad proves to be a successful monarch. At this stage it seems he's the only active supporter Alistair has among the nobility. Who'd be a bastard, eh? Talking of whom, how is the bastard King?

"Epson informed me that Alistair is playing with die in his cell…"

"Hmm. We'll address that later perhaps."

* * *

"So, pretty boy… Redcliffe, imminent death, cue mercy fuck or pity fuck or would that be a mercy/pity fuck combined?"

"You really don't have anything else to do with your mind, Epson, do you, apart from turning it into an extension of your penis?"

"Why, and _you_ do?"

"To answer your question: No, Neriya and I did not have intercourse in Redcliffe that night we did not, in fact, have intercourse again until after the Archdeamon was slain."

"See, I find that kinda strange… Here you are throughout all these other trials and tribulations, at it like bunnies, but from Redcliffe to Fort Drakon, nothing… What happened in Redcliffe Alistair, what killed the urge?"

Alistair looked towards Sagital but she had turned away.

"Stop eyeballing my girlfriend, will you, and answer the bloody question…"

"Your girlfriend. I am really surprised…"

"Why?"

"Too good for a numbskull like you, Epson."

"Back to the question, pretty boy, I may be a "numbskull" but I know a diversion when I hear one and so does she…"

"We were not… in the mood…"

"But why not, what happened between you?"

"Nothing happened between… us."

"So something happened with _someone else_ that queered your pitch… for a while…"

Alistair remained silent.

"Your eyes just dropped down to the left, Alistair, and your feet started tapping…"

"We were afraid… we…"

"But by that time you'd both been facing death almost every day for over a year…"

Alistair rallied: "Death uncertain, not death certain."

Epson leaned forward put his face close to Alistair's and said very quietly: "So one of you did do something… Ohh… blinking… pardon me, correction" He sat back: "YOU, did something. You betrayed your oath as a Warden, huh?"

"I don't have to put up with you calling me a traitor to my face… After all, what have you ever done?"

"Actually, you do. You both surrendered yourselves to our authority, remember? Chain of command and all that?"

"Just get on with it already and do what you want with me!"

"Why do I get the feeling that you'd like that, pretty boy? That it would almost come as some sort of relief?"

"I am not answering any more of your questions…"

"Feel free, but see here's where the fun starts… because there's two of you. If you don't co-operate perhaps Neriya won't get supper this evening or we won't allow her to sleep… It can be arranged, right?"

Epson turned to Sagital who nodded silently and then held up his right hand spreading the fingers: "Five minutes, we're going to leave you for five minutes now to think this over".


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

DA 9:31 Cassus/Haring Denerim

When they returned they found that Alistair had collected himself better than they would have assumed possible. As they proceeded going through the events of the last days leading to the slaying of the archdeamon Alistair would reply briefly but precisely, mostly repeating what he had previously told them. When Epson attempted to open up things, Alistair would strive to close them down. Sagital was growing weary of phrases like: "That's a supposition…" "May be your theory…" "'Fraid I disagree".

Eventually she intervened:

"So tell us, Alistair, what do you know of the symptoms of the taint?"

"Am I now being asked to give you guys a 101 on being a grey warden?"

"Humour us."

"Very well. Increased appetite, reduced lifespan, impaired fertility, nightmares, tapping into the Darkspawn hoard mind…"

"Why does it reduce your lifespan?"

"The nightmares get worse, you start hearing more and more…Whatever… It affects your sanity, drives you mad."

"Anything else?"

He held his hands out, "No."

* * *

They called time on it shortly after that. Konrad asked for them all to meet after lunch.

"So from this list we have from both of them on the effects of the taint, what is missing?"

Dummond replied: "The physical effects…"

"Precisely."

"So assuming Alistair's knowledge of the effects of the taint was obtained from Duncan and Alistair in turn informed Neriya… Does the fact that information on the physical effects of the taint were withheld from them by Duncan support their assertions that he also failed to inform them of the ultimate sacrifice outcome?" Summed up Sagital.

"I tend to think it does," replied Konrad, "but of course it is not conclusive proof. In any event, I don't and never expected to obtain conclusive proof of anything in this whole sorry turn of events. I have not been disappointed."

"Do we move on now?" Asked Pryce, "and accept that if Alistair or Neriya did anything to twist the outcome of slaying the archdeamon it was done within the space of some ten days?"

"I think we should explore other alternatives, that the initiator of what happened was neither the lad nor the lass, although they clearly benefited, but someone else who was making preparations considerably in advance of the last ten days…"

"Magic." Said Epson.

"Yes it would involve magic of some kind and that reduces the field, at least among the group to Wynne and this other one, this… Morrigan."

"But Wynne's old school and a healer…" began Pryce.

"And so am I. What was that you were telling me about the other day, Pryce?... Nevermind. But for the record I would agree, we can eliminate Wynne on the grounds that this outcome does not fit her and would be entirely out of character. So we are left with Morrigan."

"Morrigan, who disappered." Added Sagital.

"Yes, curious that…" Said Konrad.

"They both made very clear their dislike for her, perhaps that is intriguing in itself, seeing how diverse their little group was in the first place…" put in Dummond "Grey wardens to the hilt, use what you can, how you can, and enjoy the ride…" he added admiringly.

"I can't speak for Neriya, but Alistair's dislike seemed genuine. Very genuine and he does not strike me as a person who hates easily, especially someone of the opposite sex." Said Sagital.

"Insofar as Neriya shows any emotions, she also expressed a dislike of Morrigan, although she explained it by saying that Morrigan lacked compassion. I think that was genuine." Added Pryce.

"And what do we know of Morrigan apart from that?"

"A practitioner but not circle, an apostate, as if that really means anything…" said Sagital.

"A hedge or wild witch," added Pryce. "The problem with us mages is that we are too trained," he opined, "we're generally taught in the same way so we develop the same skill sets and practice similarly, we've lost our appreciation for what hedge magic might be like and might do, so in a situation like this, we are lost…"

"Any suggestions on how we might bring this together?" At the end of the table Epson gingerly put up his hand. "Epson?" Said Konrad.

"Ummm, well…They couldn't have done it, but it may be this Morrigan. They don't like Morrigan, but we seem to agree that they're hiding something. Some guilty little secret." He waggled his eyebrows, "And… Morrigan did a runner… She did a runner just when the potential for payback seemed at its highest, him being king and all now. So she got something from them, in a moment of weakness, say that night at Redcliffe, something more valuable to her than a King's gratitude."

He paused and looked at Konrad, "seems to me we have some sort of blackmail scenario going here. Of course," he said glancing quickly at his companions, "Not that I know anything about blackmail myself… but… Morrigan, having made her preparations, like all good blackmailers do, set the trap and when she saw the opportunity, trading them their lives in exchange for… We don't know, something they didn't like giving, something shameful…" Another pause and a shrug.

"Please continue." Said Konrad.

"OK, so I'm the dunderhead here, but magic, wild magic, bad magic, doesn't it often require a trigger or a source of energy to activate it? Blood, death, child sacrifice… Um, I don't know…" He said eyeing Sagital, "sex?"

Konrad look at Epson and then cast his eyes around the table: "Epson… That intervention was… Compelling… Extremely compelling."

Epson glowed with satisfaction.

"Well, it seems we have a way forward here now… Morrigan."

* * *

"Morrigan…" said Alistair, looking at his fingernails. "We met her after Ostagar."

"How?" Asked Sagital.

"We were struggling to get away from the battlefield after our recovery. The place was overrun with darkspawn… She seemed to be doing the same thing. So we joined forces, you can't really be picky in a situation like that…"

"What do you know of her?"

"Hardly anything." Said Alistair making eye contact, "an apostate obviously but she was very cagey about who she was, where she came from… We didn't get on, as I've said, the whole templar/mage apostate thingy, but apart from that, we just didn't get on on a personal level so it's not like she ever told me the story of her life."

"Would she have told Neriya?"

"Don't think so, especially since Neriya and me… Became involved."

"So what do you know about her?"

"Apostate, heartless, arrogant, conceited… Liked jewellery."

"Jewellery?"

"Yeah, you know, shiny stuff… bub…, I mean baubles"

"How…"

"In the early days, Neriya tried to keep on her good side… There not being many of us and all. Occasionally we'd find stuff and that's what Morrie liked. Trinkets. Sooo superficial."

"Why did she leave?"

"How do I know?"

"Humour me: Speculate"

"She wasn't up to the big fight. Self-sacrifice, not her style. She was all about self-interest."

"And you had nothing to do with Morrigan, Alistair?"

"I wasn't her type, she wasn't mine."

"Not in those last few days…"

"We barely spoke."

Epson intervened, leaning forward: "What did you give her? What did she want from you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean in exchange for ensuring that you both survived when the archdeamon was slain?"

"I don't follow…"

"My question is, she cast some kind of spell to prevent either of you from perishing when the archdeamon was slain, so what did you give her in exchange for that?"

"You are really going out on a limb here. I don't know where you got this crazy idea from…"

"She prevented you both from dying, pretty boy, so your love could continue to flourish and in turn you agreed to make some form of sacrifice…"

"Sacrifice? Are you accusing us of being apostates now?"

"In exchange…"

"Epson, what can I say? This train of thought is completely barking, even for you… But think this through, why would we strike a bargain like this with someone we both despised, especially since, if she didn't deliver, at best there would be only one of us still standing to call her to account?"

"You were desperate…"

"_You're_ desperate, desperate to hang the full blame for some kind of, of… Of mystical foul up, on Neriya and me…"

* * *

"I hate him" Said Epson after they had called time: "hate him, hate him, hate him and HATE HIM…!"

"Calm down, Epson" said Sagital, "you really shouldn't take this job so seriously…"

"If I didn't take it seriously, I wouldn't be able to do it…" He took a few deep breaths holding his hand to his stomach, "right, I know what I'm going to do, I'm going to confiscate his die…"

"Gosh, that is just so mature…" she jumped up to try to prevent him from leaving the room but was too late. She let herself collapse against the wall and sighed…

Alistair was casting the runes as Epson stormed into the cell.

"Give those, here! You're not meant to have those…"

"OK…"

Alistair stood, held out his hand, let his wrist go limp and tipped the rune die into Epson's hand.

"Childish things" said Epson, looking down at the runes, "the toys of a snivelling baby…"

"Go fuck yourself, Epson. I'm sure you do it very competently…"

Epson threw a punch. Alistair blocked it, "Oops!".

At that moment, inconveniently, Sagital came in "Stop…"

"Look, Sagital," said Alistair whilst still restraining Epson, "why don't you just give us ten minutes or so? Numbskull and I have something to sort out…"

"Yeah, couldn't agree more…" snarled Epson without so much as turning to look at her.

"Because," said Sagital, "that is not what we do around here…" she hit Epson on the back of the head with a fist.

"Ow!"

"Get out, next time it's my sword. And as for you…" she said turning on Alistair, " It's about time you started living up to your station…"

"And what would that be? Alistair the brief? Bastard king in waiting?"

"No! Alistair the Asshole…The idiot who hides behind his own illegitimacy to avoid making uncomfortable decisions, the guy who plays to his weaknesses rather than his strengths! Grow up."

She slammed the cell door before locking it.

* * *

The mood was far more subdued around the table at supper than it was at lunch.

"Well, this part seems prepared too." Remarked Pryce. "It was to be expected, these are resourceful people… It would be interesting to see if they got on previously with Morrigan or if this animosity was recent, the result of a falling out, but again… there has always been the possibility that they are innocent… That this was some kind of fluke."

"But the records…" said Konrad

"We know they are hiding something," said Epson, "we all pick up on that…"

"But innocents sometimes also hide or feel guilty about things…" Objected Dummond "which of us here doesn't have a secret or two in their past…"

"The records are centuries old," replied Pryce "the fourth blight ended 400 years ago, how do we know that good old Garahel didn't die in Antiva of heart failure or his injuries rather than because he slew the archdeamon?"

The question only seemed to add to the prevailing gloom.

"I for one…" said Konrad "feel I would benefit from an early night today, I need to think things over… Tomorrow we start little after dawn."

When Sagital entered his cell Alistair was just a bundle on the left wrapped up tightly on his cot fully dressed facing the wall clutching the rather thin blanket. She put the candle down on the floor beside her and watched him for a while even though she could see little more than the back of his head.

Then she reached out and shook his shoulder gently.

"For the love of the Maker…" he groaned, "bugger off…"

"Alistair…"

"Umm, Sagital… Not the usual wake up…" which was a fork being struck on a metal bucket, "I am having some good dreams here… why…"

"What do you dream about?" she asked her voice suddenly full of inquisitiveness.

"Oh sod, that's none of your business is it?" He sighed, "happy things…"

He threw his legs over the side of the cot and quickly pulled the blanket around him, and rubbed his eyes "I'm cold… Anyway… Why are you here?" he said looking around at the darkness, "Is this some kind of perverse new interrogation technique, asking about my dreams?"

She put her finger to her lips, "I thought we should talk…"

"Now? What time is it anyway?"

"I'm sorry I can't tell you…"

He took a breath and coughed "Even the air feels cold, has it snowed?"

"I'm sorry…"

He was silent for a moment or two as if taking stock of the situation or mulling things over. He looked down at her and added in a quieter voice "Is this extracurricular?"

She shrugged.

"Do the others know you're here…"

She looked towards the door.

"Well, what is it? Yes or no?"

She shook her head.

"Is there a way to get my runes back?"

"I apologise, but Epson is very taken with them, he went to sleep clutching them…"

"Huh, so who's the child now… Well since he's asleep and you've woken me… Couldn't we do something to help _me_ get back to sleep? Me being relatively inexperienced and all…"

"That suggestion is beneath you," she whispered scathingly "you sound like…"

He interrupted her, "so how's Neriya coping with this, knowing her, I bet she's doing just peachy compared to the hash I seem to be making of it…"

"I…"

"Yes. You're sorry but you can't tell me… OK, so, to sum up: No runes, no nookie, no news of Neriya… What exactly are you offering me here, Sagital?"

And she stunned him for the second time in three days when she leant over and put her arms around him. Alistair froze. Then she started to cry.

He allowed her to sob for a few minutes, wondering if the tears were genuine, and then opening his arms to loosen hers from around him said: "Let… me… go…"

"He beats… me" She said lowering her arms but burying her face in his chest.

"I am sorry, but what is that to me? You seem a big enough girl and not short on your own resources…"

"When you… Give me refuge…"

"Is that a strange new way of asking for… Forget it."

"I am serious," she snuffled "here in your kingdom…"

He took her by the shoulders and pulled her off him holding her in front of him: "Darling, don't know if you've noticed but in these last few days the sum total of my "kingdom" is this little cell… I'll be damned if I cut another desperate deal with a devious woman to get out of a tight corner. And I'll deny ever saying that."

She looked down at the floor.

"Give me your knife."

She looked at him surprised.

He sighed. "You're in casual clothes if this is extracurricular you are breaking plenty of rules just speaking to me like this. If Epson beats you, wouldn't he beat you even more if he found out you were with _me_, like _this_?… you must have brought something along. I would… I promise I won't use it unless I have to defend my or Neriya's life. You want my help? I won't tell anyone you gave it to me and I will return it, I swear by Andraste's virtue. Give it to me here…" he held out his hand.

She pulled the knife out from under her sleeve and laid it in his outstretched palm. It seemed a delicate thing, but strong, as long as the distance between his wrist and the tip of his middle finger. Its blade was shaped like a leaf, pointed at the end, wide at the middle. Where the midrib would be it was cast thickest tapering towards a razor thin, razor sharp, edge.

Unbidden she pulled out the scabbard and handed that to him too.

He breathed in "These are my terms. Information, you give me information, two questions… and a promise to get me a sword if things start going pear-shaped. If not, I'll still have the knife... If I get out of here I'm sending you all packing back to _sacré Orlais._ You too, but, I will turn a blind eye if you return. I'll give you passage, not refuge. Just passage, say to the port here. You told me to be mindful of my station. There you have it. If you agree nod. Then you can say you didn't _tell_ me anything."

The servant girl did knock but entered before Konrad, who was shaving, got a chance to say "come in". He reflected ruefully that that was fairly typical of the general lack of finesse he had observed ever since coming to Ferelden, both in the people and the country.

"You have a visitor…" said the redheaded lass, "downstairs…".

Konrad snorted "Why did you let her in?"

"She's an old lady, I wasn't going to but she told me I really should leave her standing in the snow and would I do that to my own granny? My granny died… two winters ago, and no, I wouldn't, so…"

Konrad wished he had noticed before he hired her that she talked too much "Where is she?"

"In the parlour… I lit the fire."

"Tell her I shall be right down once I have finished here."

"Yes"

He had heard of her by reputation but somehow he hadn't been told how tall she was and that she was still very beautiful. She had been warming her hands at the fire but she stood to her full height when he entered. The pale winter light from the window made her skin look slightly translucent and unearthly. He had heard some very strange rumours about her lately, not that he gave them any credence.

"_Excusez-moi de vous déranger_," she began, "and please overlook my poor Orleisian, it was much better, once, alas now a long time ago. It has been some time since I have had the opportunity to practice it… You must be Konrad…"

"And you must be Wynne…"

She put her hand up and patted her hair, "Well… It is slightly perturbing to be recognised."

"Lass" he said "Fetch us some spiced wine. Please sit down." He said turning to Wynne.

"Thank you" she said, "it may be a bit early in the day but conversation always flows easier with wine, don't you think?"

The girl brought them a cup each and they sipped in silence for a while.

"Why are you here?"

Her blue eyes met his, "You are holding my king downstairs, why should I not be here?"

"But of course he is more to you than that…"

"_They_ are more to me than that. You are a soldier, no? They were my commanding officers, or near enough, for almost two years. They are good leaders and dedicated fighters. I respect them. I respect them a good deal and it pains me to see them in this situation."

Konrad did not reply but concentrated on his wine.

"May I ask, what is the purpose of your investigation?"

"From mage to mage?"

"From mage to mage." Replied Wynne.

Konrad explained as briefly as he could.

Wynne let her hands fall into her lap: "And you think Alistair or Neriya would have the power or the means as well as the intent to do that… Always assuming, of course that Grey Warden tradition has it right… When did the fourth Blight end? As I grow old I find my memory for quaint historical facts is not what it once was..."

"5:20 Exalted…"

"Four hundred years ago! Well, as I say, do we really know what happened four hundred years ago… But even setting that to one side, what you hypothesize would require a good deal of magical practice and preparation time. Neriya is of course a mage but far less experienced than you or I. As for Alistair… Well, mage to mage again, the Theirins have always had their own brand of magic, but it is magic that runs through their veins, not learnt or consciously applied. Most of them are quite unaware of it and 'tis better so."

"This Morrigan…"

"An apostate sure enough, but not even a civil one. Very full of herself, very arrogant… Very young."

"Blood magic…"

"Surprisingly no. But what you contemplate here goes far beyond simple blood magic… We are in the realm of transubstantiation, spiritual transference on an unwieldy scale…"

"And yet they seem to be hiding something…"

"And who does not? If I were to spin for you the tales of all the sins I have committed in my life, we would be sitting here a very long time indeed. As for yourself… Oh, you know how mages love to gossip even at our level."

Konrad held up his hand "I should presume my many misdemeanours are well known… But suppose they were the means, the means for the maleficar's end."

"They are very much what they appear to be. Two young people very taken with each other, coping in circumstances which many others would find hard to endure. If they were, they would hardly do it consciously… No, they would not."

They were silent again.

"Is there anything further I can do to assist you?" Asked Wynne.

"You have been extremely helpful and have given me much to think about."

Her mouth tightened slightly but she nodded. "I am sure. I should go."

"To the circle tower?"

"No. I will be remaining in Denerim to await your determination."

They rose and she turned towards him.

"Do remind me… the formal farewell…"

"You lean towards the other person to your right and then to your left."

"Ah yes of course!" she said and did it perfectly. But keeping her hands on his shoulders, she looked straight at him once again and said "There are still many of us here who recall how things were over thirty years ago… And a few of us would do anything to avoid a return to that situation…"

Konrad hesitated, "I am sure you would…"

"Be assured. Irving sends his regards…" She said releasing him.

As she left the room, Konrad couldn't help muttering to himself: "I'm sure he does."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

DA 9:31 Cassus/Haring Denerim

Konrad was late putting in an appearance that morning so it was Sagital who went up to see him. She came down about twenty minutes later, brighter than usual it seemed in her silver plate and announced:

"Swapsies time… Pryce and I taken Alistair, Dummond and Epson, Neriya"

Epson looked sourly at Dummond. "I'm going to speak to Konrad." He said.

He came down five minutes later.

"I get Neriya, entirely on my only."

"This is all kinds of wrong and you know it…" Dummond protested.

"What? Identifying with the captives already Dummond? I'd hoped you'd last longer than that. As for me, I just want to see what pretty boy's girlfriend looks like. Alone. Is that so bad?"

* * *

"Well since my girlfriend's flirting something nasty with your boyfriend, I'd thought I'd swing by a take a peek at you but, you're…" He made a smacking noise with his lips: "Pswr… Too elven… Unfortunate. Well, what have you got to say for yourself, elf, cat got your tongue?"

"Sorry, I wasn't aware you had asked a question…"

"Uuuuh, sharp are we, bet you're not like that with him, bet you're all sweetness to pretty boy."

"You would be surprised."

"Oh so he likes a challenge, I like challenges too… Give me your hand"

"No."

"But why not? Am I not desirable or worthy?"

"Ask me questions, relevant questions, and I will answer them but I will not play stupid, pointless games with you…"

"So here's a question then, suppose I were to hurt you Neriya, would do you think the outcome of that would be?"

"I am not afraid of you, you sad, stuck up human…"

"Well that's really a bit stupid of you, isn't it?" He said and jabbed his fist forward hitting her straight in the solar plexus.

Neriya was knocked backwards off her chair and landed on the floor face upwards heaving for breath.

At first she succumbed to panic, realising she couldn't breathe but she told herself she'd been through this and worse before, that either her breathe would come back, in which case she'd live, or it wouldn't, in which case she wouldn't, so why worry about it either way? That only left the pain radiating from the pit of her stomach which was excruciating and seemed to flood every corner of her being and which she was sure would make the tips of her fingers curl, if she could only feel them…

Epson squatted down beside her: "While you're paying attention, three things: First, there's more where that came from so you better start co-operating. Second, I'm sure you're aware if pretty boy gets to hear about this, the proverbial will hit the fan, and it's quite possible none of us will get out alive, including pretty boy, and that doofus Dummond who seems to like you." He paused "what those guys see in you, beats me. And third, as regards pretty boy you are aware that everything you are, your profession, your status and especially your race is a liability to him, aren't you? I hear he's gonna marry his sister-in-law, a bit creepy if you ask me, but at least she's human, right?

Neriya became aware that the idiot was apparently talking to her. As if she cared. As if she cared about anything he could say to her at this moment as if the pain would let her care, he seemed to be jerking and gesticulating grandiosely like a marionette full of himself and entirely unaware of his insignificance. Suddenly her chest heaved and her body independently of her mind took in a lungful of air with an inelegant, stuttering gasp. She did not miss the fleeting expression of relief that crossed his face.

"… there's more where that came from…" he repeated.

Exhaling deeply, Neriya turned herself over on the floor so she was resting on her arms and didn't have to look at him, her chest heaving torturously,

"So what do you have to say?"

"Sad… sack… fuc… king … lo… ser"

"What?" He seemed genuinely startled.

"You… lost. You… just … lost"

He stood up. She then realised rather dimly, how physically vulnerable she still was. She looked at his boots, they were muddy and scuffed and there was a tiny hole on the tip of the right one. He took a small step back, what would come next? She wondered detachedly, a kick, or a stamp? Smart money on stamp, she thought…

At that moment there was a jolt to the cell door, as if someone had kicked it or thrown themselves against it. It burst open and Dummond filled the doorframe.

"Epson, you, fuckwit"

With a speed that she would not have thought possible for such a large man he was on Epson holding him by the neck up against the wall. Epson was jerking impotently saying in a strangulated voice, "Self defence… It was in self-defence"

"Like hell." Said Dummond and without a moment's hesitation punched him in the balls.

Epson screamed and after an extra few seconds, Dummond released him and let him drop without further ado moaning to the floor.

She realised Dummond was on his knees beside her and suddenly he was picking her up and putting her on the cot in a sitting position and hovering over her. He put his hand on her head as if to stroke it and took it away again really quickly.

"Are you alright?"

"Clearly not…" she said almost choking.

"This is all my fault, I'm so sorry…"

* * *

"So said Pryce you entered templar training at what age?"

"I was 16."

"And you became a grey warden when you were 22… I thought the average training period for a templar was three years…"

"I was probably a bit slow…"

"You don't strike me as slow."

"I… I really don't see the point of this…"

"That's not up to you, is it? Did you enjoy it?"

"Sometimes… I liked the discipline, no, not the self-purging, but the emphasis on hard work…"

"Tell me, how many mages have you slain?"

"Apostates, blood mages, deviants… A fair few."

"I mean in your time as a templar…"

"Personally, none."

"But templars don't ever do their work personally, do they?"

"I guess for the most part that's true."

"I mean when they have a take down?"

"A take down?"

"When they have to hunt or "suppress" a mage, that is the correct term isn't it "suppress"?

"It's the term sometimes used…"

"They work in packs, like wolves or jackals, four to a mage don't they?"

"Five…"

"Five, there you are, you know then. You know because you've done it. That's one to hold down each writhing limb and one to beat, stab and cut, Sagital."

"It wasn't like that. It really wasn't like that… most of the time…"

"And they tend to be young most of them, don't they? Virgins too. No true experience of living and there you are five guys to a girl who barely reaches up to your chests holding her down and slicing the life out of her while she screams and begs and cries for her mother, and promises she'll do anything, anything for you if you'll just let her go…"

"I… I don't really want to recall…"

"How many times did you do that?"

"I… What is the point of this?…"

""Not personally… I don't want to recall" You're pathetic, pathetic… Protecting yourself, when they couldn't, when they didn't stand a chance… No you know exactly how many, don't you? And you remember them all…"

Alistair looked ashen.

"When you look at Neriya, sometimes don't you think of them, that she could have been one of them?"

Alistair took a deep breath "Yes… Yes I do."

Pryce continued as if he had not heard Alistair's reply, "Tell me, when you were making love to Neriya, did you think about that?"

"Pryce…" said Sagaital

"I…"

"Did you get off on it?"

"No!... Just, no…"

"Pryce!" said Sagital "Pryce, that's enough, enough… Go, get out now… Out!" When the small mage didn't show any sign of moving she bundled him physically out of the room and followed.

"No, I try not to, I try not to think about it … that is sick and twisted… I told her, not how many, not the detail… but I told her…" said Alistair to their backs.

Pryce started crying… "I saw it so many times, I… Some of my friends, people I grew up with… I saw their blood and heard the Templars laugh…That's… "

"Yes, I know" Said Sagital patting him on the back, "and believe me I am sorry. But how is hurting him now going to help that? Will it bring your friends back to life? Do you think he was one of those who laughed as they killed and worse?"

Pryce glanced back into the room. Alistair had turned his back to the door and had his head in his hands.

"No, you are right… I don't think so. I just lost it…"

"You yourself say that the average training for a Templar is three years." She continued reasonably: "Why did he not become a full Templar for twice that period? He is not incompetent or inadequate as a warrior, quite to the contrary… He was never there, Pryce, never one of them… He actually embraced becoming a grey warden, unlike most of us, including you and I, as an alternative… He said a few days ago that taking the grey made him happy and proud, and I believed him… I think he meant because, in his view, it involved assuming suffering himself rather than inflicting it on others…"

"What happens now?"

"Now this ends. It was getting ridiculous before it even began to get out of hand…"

"But Konrad…"

"_I_ will talk to Konrad. You just pull yourself together, Pryce…"

Suddenly they heard a commotion from the other side of the basement. "Oh for fuck's sake… what is going on here today!" said Sagital taking off at a run.

* * *

Konrad went to see Neriya first. She was still sitting on the cot where Dummond had placed her. Her face was pale and slightly pinched. She was looking at the wall opposite the cot.

He sat down on one of the chairs. "I am extremely sorry, this was entirely my fault, I am supposed to be in charge here…"

Without moving her eyes from the wall, she put up her hand as if requesting he be quiet but then asked, "how is Alistair?"

Konrad smiled sadly to himself. "Insofar as I know, he is fine… I am going to see him after speaking to you. How are you?"

"It's strange, I keep on having to say this, I've been worse…"

"I will discipline Epson, of course. He deceived Dummond into thinking he had spoken to me. Dummond therefore carries no blame for this… When he realised what was happening he intervened and quite rightly so… I will be giving my determination in a few hours time."

* * *

Alistair, of course, was a different matter. He was standing very straight and very formal in the middle of the cell with his hands clasped tightly behind him making the bruising on his knuckles that came from punching the wall of his cell several times about half an hour before, smart.

"What was that noise I heard earlier? Is Neriya alright? If she is not, so help me, I will make sure you all, all of you, pay for this…"

"She is fine, I have just come from speaking to her…" replied Konrad pointedly ignoring the threat.

He turned abruptly away. "Well for your sakes I hope you are right…"

"She is an adult, and a grey warden, too, you know. Not some flower you are bound to protect…" said Konrad to his back.

"I am aware of the first two points. As to the last… I feel what I feel and I am not ashamed of that…"

"I will be announcing my determination in a couple of hour's time…" Konrad turned to leave.

"Tell me" said Alistair veering around quickly to face him again, "what would have happened if you had determined at any stage of this whole process that there was a case to answer and that we were culpable? I doubt we would have been afforded the luxury of an 'announcement'. It would have been a quick cut to the throat for the both of us followed by a mad dash to the border for you, am I right?"

Konrad flinched.

"I see."

"It would be a breach of your most fundamental duties as grey wardens. You know how that is punished. Very soon _you_ will be making the self-same decisions …"

Alistair closed his eyes and shook his head.

* * *

As they were being taken to the room for the determination, Alistair made a dash for Neriya and Sagital barely made a token grab for him. Dummond let go of Neriya's arm and actually stepped back so they could embrace.

"Are you alright?"

"Alistair, I am fine…" but she appeared to be squirming a little too much in his arms.

"Are you sure?" he said swiping a stray braid away from her forehead.

"Yes, I am sure." She replied testily, "let's get this over with shall we?"

"This determination has been reached by myself with the assistance of my colleagues Sagital and Dummond. Originally it was intended that Pryce would assist but he has excused himself and I have agreed to his being replaced by Dummond.

It is clear to me, if not to my colleagues, that you are hiding something. The others are much taken with you both, as of course am I. You are young, brave resourceful and have both suffered much. You are plainly quite taken with each other and that is a pleasure to see. But I am older, and, although I may be flattering myself when I say that I do not allow my beguilement with you to blind me as may have happened with my younger colleagues, I do not think so. I sense you have both done something wrong here, something deeply wrong for which we may all end up paying, but certainly the both of you will..."

Alistair glanced over at Neriya, her chin was resting on her hand and she seemed to be paying deep attention to what Konrad was saying. He found this slightly disturbing. Konrad's speech reminded him very much of the tedious sermons he was compelled to sit through, almost on a daily basis, when he was in the Chantry and his very first impulse was always to get out of there as quickly as possible either physically or, more commonly, by daydreaming.

"It is for this reason that I would urge you for one last time today to tell us what it is you are concealing. If you were wise you would do so because you would be sparing yourselves considerable future misery. So Alistair Theirin, erstwhile templar, King of Ferelden and grey warden, what say you?"

Sagital touched his arm. He stood and cleared his throat, and said quietly, "I have done my best to assist you and endeavoured to answer all your questions. I have nothing further to add."

Konrad sighed, "And you, Neriya Surana, mage of the circle, hero of Ferelden and grey warden?"

Neriya stood: "I have nothing more to say."

"Then since we have been unable to prove or find any wrongdoing on your part, you are both free to go."

* * *

"So I suppose you can tell me now what the time is, how long we have been here and whether it has snowed?" Said Alistair rather dryly to Sagital once Konrad had left the room.

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to one side, "Of course, Your Majesty… It is approximately one hour past midday, you have been confined here for three days which makes it the 27 of Cassus or Haring, if you prefer, and it snowed the day before yesterday and again this morning."

"I want to send a message to the palace and I think we both need a clean up and I need a shave… And…"

"Keep it…" She said very tartly, "but remember, you owe me… I'll attend to your requests…"

* * *

Alistair was still very concerned by Neriya's skittishness, contrary to their usual habit she insisted on cleaning herself alone. So he found himself leaning against the washroom door asking "So you are sure, you're alright? Absolutely sure now?" To which he got a muffled response of "Later, later…"

"Oh. She really doesn't like you…" He said holding up the dress Anora had sent for Neriya which was black velvet with silver detailing, "It looks like a mourning robe… I wonder if there is a message there..."

"I like it." She said holding out one hand while clutching a towel around her with the other and he gave it to her.

For himself he was quite pleased with the crimson doublet and matching trousers but had to suppress a little ick feeling when he thought that it was quite probable that they had belonged to Cailan.

Half an hour later they were standing at the doorway of the Denerim grey warden chapter house.

"So snow, a wash, fresh clothes… We are so out of here… Snow… It even makes dear, dirty Denerim, look clean, for a little while, at least… Let's do this thing…" He held out his hand and she took it. "OK, try to look serious, and not as if you were resisting an almost overwhelming urge to throw yourself into the nearest snow drift and start romping around…"

"But I… Oh, I get it." Her stomach still hurt but, as usual, she found his enthusiasm contagious.

Unlike on their outgoing journey there were a fair amount of people thronging the streets and their little procession drew quite a bit of attention with most standing to one side and getting a good look and a few even following.

Halfway to the palace, in the middle of the market square, he said, "We need to stop…"

"Why?"

"Busy here today, isn't it?..." He said coming to a standstill and casting his eyes around. It was, the new year being just around the corner, shoppers were thronging the place and merchants were pushing their wares with redoubled enthusiasm but much of the buying and selling and wheeling and dealing had ceased when their presence was noticed.

Before she could process things much further, he added, "So we can do this…" He pulled her tightly up against him clinching her waist with his arm and put his firm lips on hers and kissed her intensely, slipping his tongue impudently between her lips and exploring every corner of her mouth as if they had never kissed before. "…I always wanted to do this to you in front of lots and lots of people…".

After a while he mumbled "Open your eyes just a little bit and take a peek under your eyelashes, are they all watching us…"

"You are mad… Oh dear Maker…" uncharacteristically, she felt her cheeks flush.

"My turn…Wow… Back to real kissing, we don't want them to think we're faking…"

When they finally let go of each other it was to find themselves surrounded by a stunned silence. After patting Neriya on the cheek, Alistair suddenly seemed very preoccupied with adjusting his right cuff. Then somebody wolf-whistled, someone else whooped, a small group discreetly began to clap and a child dodged between the guards and handed Neriya an apple and quickly ran away again. And the crowd roared. Alistair smiled and waved and even Neriya felt compelled to aid by wielding the apple in the air.

"OK" he said. "Job done. Time to move on now…" as they entered some back streets away from the square he leaned towards her and whispered "thank you for you very enthusiastic participation in my first political act…"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

DA 9:31/9:32 Cassus/Haring Denerim

"She wanted me to have supper with her this evening but I told her I needed to see how you were… We're on for tomorrow… So this is the King's private bedchamber is it? My bedchamber. It's pretty… ghastly…"

There were overlarge and pointless tapestries on two of the walls and some very convoluted needlework on the hangings of the four poster bed that had faded over time. Over the fireplace there was a boar's head surrounded by a mounted display of knives, swords and spears.

"Well at least it has a bed and a big one. And you, of course, always a plus that… So tell me what happened back there?"

"Epson hit me."

"What?"

"You heard."

"Where? Where did that son of a bitch hit you?"

Neriya pulled up her dress and showed him the fist size bruise just below her sternum.

Alistair jumped to his feet off the bed where they were sitting as if he had been stung. "It's my fault, he did it to you to get back at me…" then he walked back to her and took a careful look at the bruise.

"It is alright, Alistair, it is done and rectified." She said pulling the dress down and she told him about Dummond.

"I would have given the bastard more than partial strangulation and a punch in the balls…"

"But I am not sure he would have been able to appreciate it… He was rolling on the floor of my cell making some quite strange noises…"

Alistair suddenly cracked a grin "I really would have liked to have seen that…" then he added, "are you sure you are alright?"

"I am fine. Nothing a good's night sleep won't fix…"

"I'll go easy on you tonight then…" He said, "but I think we need some supper first."

A little later when he had his arms tightly wrapped around her as they were about to fall asleep he said "Arrgh… so much happening in these last two weeks… I really need to process it… Did I tell you how I nearly got us killed? I was just so awful…"

* * *

The next morning Anora was just going round a corner towards her study when she came upon a gaggle of her maids and one of her younger chamberlains looking out of a window laughing and giggling. Noiselessly she stood behind the young people to see what the cause of such hilarity might be. Three stories below in the deserted palace courtyard there were two figures engaged in a snowball fight. She was about to slap one of the maids lightly on the shoulder and order her to summon the palace guard to detain the trespassers when it suddenly dawned on her who they were.

After telling the servants to stop dawdling and get about their business, she went to the study that happened to have a very good view of the courtyard, pulled a chair up to the window and watched while she sipped her herbal tea.

Unsurprisingly, his reach seemed to be longer but she was better on timing and precision. They tossed snowballs back and forth for about fifteen minutes or so until Alistair seemed to loose patience with the distance battle and began walking towards Neriya who at first peppered him pitilessly with missiles and then tried to make a dash for it. Eventually after some ducking and dodging he was successful in grabbing her and hauled her up, squirming and squealing, slung her over his shoulder, walked very calmly over to a snow drift and dropped her in.

A few moments later she emerged dripping from head to toe and started berating him while he laughed. She chased him then and it was his turn to attempt to get away. After several minutes, though, he dropped to his knees and put his hands up, obviously suing for mercy. There was none. She gathered an armful of snow and dumped it over his head while he screamed, rubbing it into his scalp. Eventually, while standing over him, she pulled out his tunic top and stuffed the gap between the fabric and his skin with snow.

Half an hour later, when they were still trying to warm up in front of the fire, between his chattering teeth Alistair asked, "Remind me again why we're doing this… Why I'm having to marry that woman?"

* * *

Anora had always been a serious-minded person and because she had known Cailan since childhood and only very rarely had they been apart, she had for many years assumed they were cut from the same cloth. It was therefore a surprise to come upon him one evening with a group of male friends and overhear him joking and teasing with the best of them. It was more than a surprise, actually, it was a revelation.

Shortly after that, the pieces of a puzzle the existence of which she had previously been completely unaware of, had suddenly began to fall into place and she started to suspect he was being unfaithful to her. She would always ask herself whether at the heart of his infidelity lay, not a lack of chastity, but rather his inability to share his lighter side with her. Not that in her mind it diminished in any way his blameworthiness.

Looking at Alistair play with Neriya, because that is what she recognised it as, pure childish, joyful play, she realised that they were so far apart emotionally that she could never hope to have any kind of mutually satisfying relationship with him. If Cailan had been for the most part diffident and deferential towards her she realised that here was a person who had long ago cast off any diffidence or semblance of deference, he may have possessed in the first place.

* * *

"So," she asked him over supper, "what was this matter between you both and the Grey Wardens all about?"

He paused his fork half-way to his mouth, "Nothing really, a technicality… A minor technicality."

"A minor technicality," she echoed "whereby they detained you and Neriya under interrogation for three days…"

"Minor, but complicated… Quite complicated, really."

"Alistair… can I call you that?"

"Always been my name, Anora."

"You are the most appalling liar."

He looked at her, shrugged, put the fork down and helped himself to some wine.

"I don't suppose you will tell me exactly what this minor technical complication, actually involved, will you?"

"You suppose right. Over my dead body."

"Well at least that is an honest answer." She paused, "and what you told me a few days ago about being my husband…"

"I lied." He interrupted. "I am sorry for that."

She rolled her eyes at him and took a few more bites of her meal. "You know, I do have a use for you."

"I'm so thrilled."

"That was probably badly phrased. I meant to say that Ferelden may have a use for you."

"Same reply."

"Aren't you even curious?"

"Should I be?"

"Alistair, I may be wrong, but I don't think so. Like Cailan you have… presence. As your little street demonstration yesterday showed. What I mean to say is, people will remember you. Long after both you and I are gone, it is you they will remember…"

"My 'little street demonstration'. Right… As I said: thrilled."

"We can use that…"

"Anora, since I assume we're talking frankly. We are, aren't we? I feel obliged to explain to you that I am not, and never have been, overly-enamoured of being 'used', as you so quaintly put it."

"But you are very docile with Neriya…"

"That was and is different. We were fighting, I was following orders, in combat someone has to command and others have to obey. This is an entirely dissimilar situation. I see no reason why I should automatically defer to you, or to your opinions, or you to me, come to that. As for now, I love her, so yes, I defer to her and humour her and may, occasionally, be tempted to kiss her in public, that is what one does, is it not? I do not love you."

"I appreciate your frankness, but I suspect that this is not going to be easy on either of us. I was only attempting to establish some guidelines."

"Well, here's more: I am what I am and I am not backing down. You may know more about governance, diplomacy, politics, _guidelines_ and getting on with people who are not like me, all sophisticated stuff, I grant you… But I have been places and done things you never will and you would never want to do. For Ferelden, I should add, and without _guidelines_. I am sorry to be so brash but I did not go through what I did to become your lapdog or your thrall."

She leaned back, there was something taunting in her eyes.

"Ah yes, and before you say it, I'm a hypocrite for marrying you, but that's probably better for Ferelden at this stage than a civil war, which is what it would take to dislodge you from power, I imagine…" It gave him a sort of grim satisfaction to see Anora shift uncomfortably in her seat.

He got up "I may be wrong, but if we have anything in common it's that we both like a challenge… And that is something _we both_ can use for the good of Ferelden…"

He paused and grabbed a pear from the fruit bowl in front of him. "I am sorry I have lost my temper, you've probably realised I have quite a quick one, but I find you extraordinarily irritating, especially when you talk down to me. That's a weakness I obviously need to work on. Have a good evening."

* * *

When he got back to their room Neriya asked him

"How did it go?"

He didn't answer immediately but walked over to the fireplace, stood on tiptoe and not without some difficulty prised the boar's head off the wall.

"I have never, ever, understood why some people would slaughter animals not for food or survival but for fun, especially when there are darkspawn around. I really don't understand why they would go even further and put their heads on their walls… So, you, my friend, are out of here…" and put it lightly on the floor.

Then he began on the weapons.

"This is rubbish, and this… Crap…" and started to throw them with a loud clatter on the floor next to the unfortunate boar's head.

"So?" insisted Neriya.

"Trite." He said, "it was very trite," and then, holding up an ancient sword to his right eye and squinting down it, "look at this one, it isn't even straight…"

* * *

If Konrad was slightly nervous at being summoned at such an early hour to the palace, or whatever passed for a palace in Ferelden, he felt more at ease when he was ushered into the little room that evidently was not a dungeon. Alistair was leaning against the desk with his head lowered as if he were looking at the floor and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Thanks for coming. Please sit down…" Alistair gestured at the chair just in front of him.

"If you don't mind…"

"I do." He said quietly, "sit down."

Konrad sat.

"I've been trying to get my head around what's happened these last few days. I have also spoken to Neriya. We appreciate that you were doing what you believed you had to do and that you were doing what you felt was your duty… So I, _we_, thought it was better if we came to some sort of accommodation…"

"Fair enough."

"I've written to the First Warden." He handed Konrad a page of vellum covered in surprisingly neat handwriting endorsed with a simple seal in grey wax. Konrad looked slightly taken aback.

"I _can_ write, you know. I can even spell when I put my mind to it. As you see, I am suggesting that you, Pryce, Sagital and Epson all leave Ferelden, never to return, at least in my or Neriya's lifetime, which will probably amount to the same thing, anyway. Since you were originally based in Orlais and your assignment here is finished I cannot see that you should object."

Konrad returned the letter to him, "I don't" he said, "Speaking on a personal note, I've not been feeling too well lately and I miss Orlais."

"Good. I am also proposing that Dummond be made commander of the grey here in Ferelden, given that both Neriya and I have other duties and there is a potential conflict. Neriya speaks well of him and that is good enough for me…"

"How is Neriya?" interjected Konrad.

For the first time Alistair looked at him directly.

"She is well," he said stretching, relaxing a little "very well. A tough gal, just like you said. One other thing, have you heard of Warden's Keep?"

Konrad nodded.

"Well, I am proposing that for the time being the crown will hold it in trust for the order, to be returned to the order's full control at some future date..."

Konrad shrugged.

"Then we are in agreement?"

"We are."

"Good. I would ask you write in support of my proposals then, send me a copy at your convenience. You don't have to go immediately, it is… sad, having to travel in the new year but by the end of Verimensis I will expect you all to be gone. Apparently we are having a party here tomorrow to celebrate the First Day. Around six I believe. Dummond should come. Ah, yes, one final thing, I would suggest Epson be confined to the chapter house while he is in Denerim. Ferelden can be a dangerous place sometimes."

* * *

"Do I really have to greet all these people in person?"

"You are their host, Alistair, so yes."

So he stood next to Anora and took his cue from her. Shaking people's hands, smiling slightly, asking who they were and attempting to listen with some interest to their, usually, totally unengaging, replies. After an hour of that he felt as if he would rather have a poisonous spider run its nether parts over his face or a shriek go for his eyeballs.

There was the occasional exception. He remembered Alfstanna, for example, and enquired about her brother, Irminric. When he saw the shadow cross her sad pretty face, he wished he hadn't.

"He is quiet most days," she said "but I'm not sure he knows where he is anymore, who I am or who he is himself…"

"Neriya is here, too, somewhere. You may wish to speak to her…"

"Yes I shall." Replied the Bann, he couldn't be sure that there weren't tears in her eyes.

Then Anora suggested he "mingle", apparently this involved doing very much the same thing all over again but this time walking around the great hall, but at least it could be done holding a wine glass. A glass. He had seen glass in windows, of course, and the occasional coarsely grained glass object, but he had no idea that glass could be folded (did they "fold" it, like steel?) so finely so as to produce the delicate object he now held cautiously in his hand.

The questions began:

"Tell me all about your adventures…" said one very eager well-off lady, judging by her dress.

"Adventures…" he echoed

"Yes, you were at Ostagar, weren't you?" she prompted.

"Ostagar wasn't an 'adventure'… It was a rout, a defeat, a massacre, well nigh on three thousand people, good people, died. My half-brother died, _your King_ died, my companions, my mentor…"

"So the hero of Ferelden's an elf?" asked a young man who should have been better informed.

"Apparently… Although she's only just broken the news to me… I'm still trying to come to terms with it..."

Undaunted, the young man lowered his voice "What's it like kissing an elf and, you know, what's it like… an elf."

"Let me see…" he said twirling the glass, pretending to give the question deep consideration… "It's probably an improvement on having sex with a maleficar, a darkspawn or a marbari…" "or your mother" he added for himself.

* * *

Dummond was also feeling quite lost and overwhelmed, being probably the largest person in the hall he also found himself the focus of much curiosity and strange looks. Additionally, his Fereldan was getting pretty stretched and he wasn't quite sure whether people were being rude to him or whether they were simply abrupt and less effusive than their Orleisian counterparts. He was also beginning to ponder whether so many women bumping into him was purely accidental when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Dummond… It is good to see you."

"Neriya, I… Yes, it was very kind of you to invite me… This looks like quite a party."

"I never got the chance to thank you…"

"Well, those were hardly the right circumstances… The last days, everyone was getting a bit fraught and worked up…"

"Well you are here now" she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you. Anyway, I'm sure you have splendid parties in Orlais."

"I'm sure there are but this is the first one of its kind I've ever attended…"

"Really?" said Alistair draping his arm over Neriya's shoulders.

"Your…" said Dummond placing his hand on his chest.

"Oh, cut it… new commander of the grey, otherwise I'll have to call you "captain" or "commander" or something like that, won't I? And the next thing I know you'll be ordering me out of the palace to slay darkspawn…"

"Alistair…" said Neriya

"What?" He rather loudly said turning to her

"You know what…"

"Anyway," said Alistair going back to Dummond, "this stinks. What I need to know is if there are any decent taverns around here… I'm sure there are but I haven't yet found one. We could go look together one day not too soon, Dummond."

"I'd like that."

"Good. It's a done deal, then."

* * *

Alistair was attempting some sobering up sitting quietly on one of the balconies overlooking the hall. He decided that there were two types of people attending the function. The minority, those hanging around in the corners looking sad depressed or uncomfortable, but attempting to socialise anyway, and the vast majority who didn't appear to give a hoot about anything, most of whom hadn't even bothered to engage their brains.

"I would have thought this would be your kind of thing, Alistair." Said Anora standing next to him.

"No, no, it's not really. Too many posh people, so many women it's simply daunting… I can't dance… The only good thing is the drink. Is our wedding going to be like this?"

"No…"

"Thank…"

"It will be considerably worse if my marriage to Cailan was anything to go by."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

DA 9:32 Pluitanis/Guardian Denerim

"… but the bedding is an integral part of the marriage ceremony…"

"Yes, I get that but since we're not going to… anyway, can't we just sort of skip it?"

"It is tradition, Alistair, and we very much survive on tradition. If we 'skip it' as you suggest, there will be at least two adverse consequences. One, we will be seen to make a mockery of the fact that we are getting married in the first instance, and thus indirectly cause offence to the Chantry. Secondly, and more seriously, it will arose suspicion that there will be no heirs conceived between us, which in turn will undermine our status as monarchs. We will become fair game for any jumped up tyrn, arl or bann with a brace of children and there are not a few of those."

"So I get to wear a nightdress…"

"Well, is that not better that going naked? Besides, Cailan did it… So now, who are your groomsmen…"

Alistair told her.

"You cannot have an assassin and an Antivan, as your groomsman…" she said making the second sound worse than the first.

"For all his faults, Anora, and believe you me he has a few that might make even your hair curl, he is not only an assassin and an Antivan but he was one of the companions. One of the fighters that helped end the Blight, he was on the roof of Fort Drakon with us…"

"Then choose someone else… more appropriate as a counterbalance."

* * *

"Did I not tell you, Alistair, that as soon as you became King you would have need of my services…"

"Yes, but it's not _those_ services I need."

"More's the pity, I would have been prepared to quote you a special discounted rate for my first commission… Still, I am quite happy to keep that offer open should you happen to change your mind. But since you are now getting married perhaps you require some advice…"

"No, I don't need that either…"

"Are you sure now?"

"Absolutely positive. I just need you to be my groom of the bedchamber."

"You mean I am to escort you to the bedchamber…"

"Yes…"

"Ensure you get into bed with the queen…"

"Yes…"

"And then leave…"

"Exactly."

"But couldn't I wait around a little while? Once the curtains have been drawn, of course, I would be very quiet. I have never attended a royal coupling before…"

"No. Definitely not."

"Perhaps I could listen at the door a bit then?"

"No."

"You are a very cruel man, Alistair, to deny others their pleasures so."

"I do not deny others their pleasures I just don't see why they should vicariously enjoy mine, especially you… In any event nothing is going to happen…" As those words tripped out of his mouth, a thought struck him, "perhaps there is something extra you can do for me after all…"

* * *

"We never had chance to thank you, I understand you came to the chapter house and spoke personally to Konrad on our behalf…"

"Oh" said Wynne, "it was nothing, I simply engaged him in some friendly conversation and made some points I felt needed to be made…"

"Nevertheless…" and for the upteenth time that awful evening she felt his eyes on her, she turned around and espied him at the head of the table, half a world away across the crowded hall, he lifted his glass towards her she waved back.

"How is he taking it?" Enquired Wynne.

"He hates it, he is hating every moment of it… I wish now there had been a way to spare him this." And she opened her arms encompassing the entire hall and all the people in it.

"Well" said Wynne, "today will pass and other days will come. There are always things we are obliged to do against our own inclinations, especially kings… That dress does suit you…"

"This" said Neriya, "is raw silk…" She said, picking up the skirt and releasing it disdainfully again. "I do not know how much it cost. Good money wasted in my view, but he chose it. He had me there while he was discussing his wedding attire with the dressmaker and then he asked her what she had for me…"

When Neriya had protested Alistair bid the dressmaker and her assistants excuse them a moment. Once they had absented themselves from the room, he had turned to one of the swatch books they had left, opened it, and remarked "I like this one, don't you?" when she had demurred he had slapped the book closed and said:

"Neriya Surana. I am King now and apparently, you, my erstwhile leader, the hero of Ferelden and my Councillor, are now my mistress… Would that it were not so, would that we both were just plain grey wardens again, would that I were planning my wedding to you and not to… that woman, but that is not how things are. Those were our choices and we took them. We must both abide by them now. We need to be clear, like it or not, what you do, say, and even how you dress reflects on me…"

"Then dress me yourself, Alistair…" she had snapped.

"I should not have spoken to you so harshly, but, very well. I had hoped you would humour me…"

She had told him what he could do with his hope on that count and he had shrugged.

"…certainly…" she said casting her eye over the thronged grand hall "red does not appear to be a popular colour with the other ladies."

Wynne smiled, "You don't know, do you? Together with the invitations there was an extremely polite, well-composed, note, beseeching that none of the ladies wear red…"

"Oh"

"He reminds me of Maric" said Wynne,

"You met Maric?"

"Everyone met Maric, when he was in one of his sociable moods, he would go out of his way to meet people…"

"Was Maric handsome?"

"Look over there," said Wynne gesturing in Alistair's direction, "is _he_ handsome?"

"Of course he is…"

"The apple does not fall far from the tree…"

Neriya turned back to her, "Wynne," she said, "although you have already done so much for us, I have something else to ask of you…"

* * *

"Gotcha" he said as he pulled her into an alcove and from there quickly bundling her into a tiny side room.

"Ughhh!" she said slightly winded.

"Sorry…" he said smoothing down her hair, "I just managed to get away from them all… Had to take advantage."

"But you are getting married…"

"Technically, I'm already married… Remember this morning? The chapel, the reverend mother, Anora in white gloves? I've just yet to be bedded… But before that… You really do look stunning in that dress, you know… I have such good taste."

She touched his cheek. "I am sorry Alistair…"

"That's a yes, right?" He kissed her, pulling her to him with one hand and placing the other on her breast.

"You are totally out of order…" she gasped.

"Not half", he said, "not half" reaching down for the hem of her dress.

* * *

"Well," said Zev, As Alistair who had almost forcibly compelled them to turn their backs to him, started to tug off his clothes with not a little vehemence, "a propos of this I assume you are familiar with what they say about large men. In Antiva…"

"Oh," replied Teagan, "we have the selfsame saying here in Ferelden, if I get your drift."

"And I do assure you it is true, in the course of my many adventures I have carried out numerous observations that confirm it." Teagan's right eyebrow crept a little higher towards his hairline.

Zev continued undaunted "Both you and I, my friend, are fairly… compact, and therefore, have nothing to envy. But obviously, Alistair here..."

"I can hear you, you Antivan ne'er do well. Sowing trouble as usual. And you, Teagan, should be ashamed of yourself for playing along, I thought better of you. I am not… small. Definitely not small. Really, really not small… And I would be more than happy to give you both a demonstration if were not a breach of decorum, would not give Zev blissful dreams for several weeks and I were not currently feeling… indisposed…"

"Methinks," said Teagan, "he doth protest too much."

"Indeed." Concurred Zev, "if he did not have some deficiency, some shortcoming, for which to compensate, would he really need to talk so much about it, and so loudly?"

"You can stop yakking both of you and turn around now…" said Alistair finishing pulling on the gown, "I bet I look like a total tit in this thing and big girl's blouse all rolled into one." He said opening his arms.

Zevran and Teagan tried for a few minutes to keep straight faces and then cracked up.

"Right, that tells me everything I need to know." He said tersely, "Zev, my medicine…"

Zev passed Alistair a flask that he took from his tunic and Alistair took several long gulps and then handed it back to him, suddenly looking a little glazed and nearly keeling over. Zev moved quickly to prop him up. "Assist me Teagan, he is rather heavy" they both supported him.

"Maker," said Teagan, "what is that stuff?"

"Absenta… if you cannot hold your liquor well, like our friend Alistair, I would recommend taking only a tiny sip." And Zev proffered it to him.

"I can… hold…" said Alistair, "… but not this… stuff…"

Teagan took the flask very carefully opened it and sniffed. It smelt of a variety of herbs, like a fresh morning meadow. He could recognize some of them and even name them. Others, while tantalizingly familiar, he could not quite identify, although the sweet smell of aniseed slightly predominated over them all. Finally, there was a dash of citrus and something completely unfamiliar contributed, a grown-up, bitter edge to the whole concoction.

Teagan did take a sip, how could he resist? But it was a tad too sweet for him even though he could recognise the complexity of the brew in a bare mouthful. Suddenly Alistair was reaching out for the flask again.

"Alistair, are you sure? You are going to incapacitate yourself…" said Teagan.

From under Alistair's other arm the Antivan delicately rolled his eyes at him.

Teagan, the eternal bachelor, felt a sudden pang of sadness and thrust the flask towards Alistair, "Very well. Don't drink too much, though…" he said testily, "you don't want to do yourself permanent harm…"

They opened the chamber door and struggled into the passageway, then, almost miraculously Alistair found his legs again, although he needed to hold himself up against the wall, at least it afforded Teagan and Zev some respite.

He looked bleary-eyed down the corridor and saw Neriya in the red dress standing where they had agreed, he raised his hand and she raised hers in return looking distressed. For a moment he thought her could see her very clearly but then she appeared to melt and become just a red smear on the eager lens of his eye. He attempted a brave smile, but was really feeling too unwell to carry that off properly.

So he turned away and tried as best he could to walk in a straight line down the hallway, with Zev and Teagan wearily either side of him in case he should list.

The bedchamber when they got there was full of candles and people. When he entered, walking cautiously, there was a round of applause and a few shouts of long live the King. Everything kept going in and out of focus as if it were moving very fast or very slowly in intermittent bursts of blurred brightness.

He smiled like an idiot and held up his hand as he had done with Neriya and as far as he could tell, it seemed everyone else was smiling back and returning his salutation. Someone placed a glass of white wine in his hand and Teagan and Zev ushered him diligently towards the bed. He noticed that loose, Anora's blonde hair fell well below her shoulders almost to her waist. She too was holding a glass and, looking at him coolly, even took a sip from it. He tried to do the same but somehow managed to miss his mouth and ended spilling wine on the bed.

"Ooops, Alistair, too soon, _calma_, we know how willing you are…" said Zev, damn him, he thought vaguely.

The sheets were pulled back and he was eased into the bed. "Just hold on, just hold on, Alistair…" murmured Zev and it suddenly struck him that for all his brazenness, the unflappable Antivan assassin was actually more nervous than he. He held that thought for a while because it was actually quite amusing.

Someone approached the foot of the bed and he realised it was a reverend mother reciting the appropriate sections of the Chant.

Once that was over everyone started yelling, "Kiss! Kiss!"

He felt something touch his cheek and made a half-hearted effort to shoo it away before realising it was Anora's hand and that she was gently turning his face towards hers. He closed his eyes. Then, hand still in place, he felt Anora put her lips delicately against his and keep them there, utterly immobile, for a few beats.

It seemed that everybody applauded and then it was no with no small sense of relief that he began to feel everything go slowly out of focus and fade away. He sank back on to the pillow as on his side Teagan and Zev began to pull the curtains closed and Anora's maids on hers.

"We should leave them to it…" he heard Teagan's voice say and he became aware for a moment that he was lying back and then he saw Anora's face hovering over him and then, for a while, everything went blank…

* * *

"You are drunk." She said a few hours later when he eventually came to.

"Stinking…" he agreed amicably.

"Well you said it," she hissed, "just like Cailan"

"Cailan? But I thought you two…"

She snorted, "Of course we did, but not on our wedding night…"

"Ha," he said staring intensely at the canopy of the bed, "that's actually kinda funny, now _I'm_ lying here… I didn't know him very well, I think we barely exchanged two words. But when I saw him at Ostagar, from a distance, of course, he seemed, so self-confident, so kingly, so… altogether… I guess it could've been the armour. A good suit of armour can dress a guy up so much. But then…"

There was a long pause, she began to wonder whether he had dropped off again when suddenly his hands flew to his head, "Oh fuck… fuck, fuck…"

"Don't tell me you're going to be sick… There's a chamber pot under…"

"No, it's not that." He said suddenly sounding very serious and sober, "I never told you, I should have told you…"

"Told me what?"

"I, I mean _we_, found him… I am sorry, we found him, I mean we found his body… We went back to Ostagar a few months after the battle and…" he took a breath, "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

He sighed, "long version or short version?"

"Long version."

"OK, well we got some sort of tip-off … and since we were in the area Wynne, Neriya, Zev and I went back to the battlefield to see if there was anything worth retrieving… As it turns out, there wasn't really… Just the odd weapons, armour, helpful but not earth-shattering. There were a few darkspawn hanging around, we killed those, of course. Are you sure you really want to know…"

"By the Maker…"

"Right. Well sometimes the darkspawn make a sort of… display of their victims… one day I'll have to go through what we think we know about the darkspawn," he mumbled almost to himself, "anyway, not to beat about the bush, they placed his body on a sort of column along the ramparts. I recognised him, even from a distance, I recognised him straightaway… We all did." He paused, "have you ever been to Ostagar?"

"No."

"You… _We_ should go there sometime, sometime soon…"

"I think it was obvious they'd singled him out because they realised he was important… He was virtually unclothed. As I said, the weather was cold, very cold, had been for months… I recognised him instantly. I couldn't leave him or what was left of him there, like that… Zev, who's a bit more agile than me, clambered up and unfastened him, I stood below and helped lower him… When I held him, saw him up close… It was a bit of a shock… At first I didn't understand why but then it hit me. He looked like me, just like me…"

He stopped for a moment recalling how in that instant, about a year ago now, struggling under Cailan's weight, he had glanced over at Neriya and saw her appalled expression as the same thought dawned on her.

"Did he…"

"From what I could tell, no, no I don't think so, not very much." He sat up, suddenly it seemed wrong to speak of such things comfortably lying down, "Of course there's no such thing as an easy death, but… He was damaged, injured, I mean. He had a deep gash on the left side of his chest," As he said this, one of his hands involuntarily gravitated towards the left side of his own chest, "he'd obviously bled a lot and he was pretty battered about. When we got him to the ground, we covered him and then we gathered what we could from around the area to make a pyre and laid him out on it…"

Alistair recollected how just before lighting the pyre he had surprised himself by lowering the blanket covering Cailan, looking at his ravaged, eyeless, face one last time and, regardless, kissed him on the forehead.

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,

I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.

I shall endure,

What you have created, no-one can tear asunder."

"I said some verses from one of the canticles, wished him safe passage to the Maker's side and lit the pyre…" He sighed. "Afterwards I collected some of the ashes and tied them up in a rag… I didn't really have anything else on me at the time. They might still be among my belongings, I had my stuff stashed in a room here about two months' ago. Haven't had a chance to go through it yet. If I find them, I'll give them to you, if you wish."

He looked over at Anora lying next to him. One of her hands was covering her eyes.

"I am sorry, I am truly sorry… This is a bummer of a conversation to have on your wedding night." He got up.

"_Our_ wedding night," she corrected him.

"Yes, right." He made to leave the room.

"Tell me," she said, as he opened the door "Do you love her?"

"Yes, I do," he said, "I love her more than my life…" and he shut the door softly behind him as he left.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

DA 9:30 Camp near Lake Calenhad

"I really don't want to wait anymore. I've…I've never done this before. You know that. I want it to be with you…while we have the chance. In case…" began Alistair.

As he squatted down and began to pull of his armour, he recalled his own words spoken barely half an hour ago. As usual, he had problems with his right rerebrace and started tugging at it impatiently.

"Let me help," said Neriya. She slipped her small fingers in the interstices between the brace and the breastplate, and deftly unbuckled it.

"Thanks," he said. Alistair caught her hand just as she was about to withdraw it, and stroked gently it with the back of his thumb. "Such a pretty hand," he said, running his lips over it.

Once he had disassembled his armour, it lay in an untidy pile in the corner of his tent. As he stood in his linen trousers and his doublet, he suddenly realised that he had never kissed her bare of his armour. He noted that he was already quite excited. As the implications of this thought struck him, he glanced back nervously towards her. It seemed pretty clear that the time for a kiss had arrived. So he turned to her and put his lips on hers. He carefully avoided pulling her as close to him as he usually did.

He need not have bothered. She stepped into his arms, and he felt her body up close against his as he had never felt it before. Undoubtedly, she felt his hardness. When they took a quick break from their embrace, she smiled up at him, which he found a tad disconcerting.

"Let's take this off," Neriya said, pulling at his doublet.

" All right," he said, allowing her to move around him and lower it down his arms.

"And the chemise," she said, "Off, off, off…"

"Okay, okay! Patience," said Alistair, pulling it over his head while trying not to disarrange his hair too much.

Bare-chested was fine, he told himself. She'd seen him bare-chested before, when he was injured. Indeed, the first thing she did was carefully examine the finger-length wound on the left side of his stomach, just above his waist.

"This seems to be healing well," she said, plucking at it lightly. "I still remember you whimpering, as I sewed it closed three days ago."

"That wasn't whimpering," Alistair said, "those were manly protestations…"

"Sounded just like whimpering to me," Neriya replied.

But it also felt somewhat…charged, especially when she ran the palm of her hand just above the surface of his chest. Her fingers riffled the hairs there; she then lay her cheek against it, and tried to put her arms around him.

"I can't even wrap my arms fully around you…" she said from below.

"I can't help that," he said.

"No, it is good," she said. "It feels right."

"Now you," he suggested. She obediently turned around, and he began to untie the laces at the back of her robe as best he could. As he did so, he bent down and gently kissed the nape of Neriya's neck. She shivered slightly under Alistair's lips.

"Do you like that?" Alistair asked.

"Very much," Neriya replied.

Alistair slipped his bare arms under Neriya's loosened dress, and encircled her waist. Emboldened, he pulled Neriya close and kissed her soundly, while she purred approvingly in the back of her throat.

After a while she turned around and lowered her robe, leaving her clad in her smallclothes. His mouth went dry.

As he seemed indecisive, she reached behind her back and undid her breast wrap, letting it drop to the ground.

"Kiss me again, please" she said, and at the same time took his right hand and put it on one uncovered breast.

Alistair kissed her mouth as he gently cupped her breast. He felt Neriya squirm and catch her breath as he did so. She nipped his lower lip briefly and he moved his mouth to the side of her neck. He stopped then and put his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. His hand still tenderly clasped her breast.

"I never thought I'd get to do this…"

"I think you'll be fine," she breathed, "Perhaps you should carry on…"

"Oh, well," he replied, "Since you're asking…"

He lowered his mouth to her breast and began to tug and tease the hardened tip with his lips and tongue.

After a while Neriya pushed Alistair off, as he protested mildly.

"No" she said, "I just need you to do the other one…"

He grinned briefly at her and set to it. Neriya closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and started moaning quietly.

Eventually he stopped. "I really could do that all night," he said. "Most of the day, too. If I really had to…"

Neriya smiled at him and put her lips against his and then she placed her hand on his hips and slipped them inside his breeches. Alistair jumped when she first touched him and almost stepped away. Sensing his hesitation, Neriya pulled his breeches and smallclothes down at the same time, taking him in as she crouched to do so. She stood, and ran her hands over and around him and along his length. He bowed his head and rested his hands on her shoulders. Alistair breathed deeply, his fingers flexing slightly as she touched him.

After a while, he grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away. "I think you should stop doing that," he said quietly.

"Why?" she murmured.

"Because I'm not sure how much longer I can take it. As I've said, I've never done this before, and…well, I'm uncertain what my limits might be."

She nodded, briefly licking her lips. "Fair enough."

"If you want, we can stop now," Alistair continued. "You don't have to go through with this…"

Neriya shook her head, mystified. "Why in the world would I want to stop?"

"I mean, I might not be right for you…"

"Why do you think that?" said Neriya.

"Well, because…" said Alistair, and he made a vague gesture with his hand.

She stepped back and took him in. Without clothes he was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen, especially flushed with modesty. He was… Neriya realised that she did not have much to compare him against but, nonetheless, a frisson of excitement ran through her.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked nervous under her scrutiny and then, "Am I…"

"You are so wrong," Neriya said shaking her head, "I desire you very much. You are…" she searched for the right word, "… superb."

"Great, well…" he said, not sounding too convinced.

"My turn," said Neriya.

"Yes, I think it is," he said, sounding slightly relieved.

Neriya stood before Alistair and took his larger hands in hers. She guided them to her hips, and allowed him to hook his thumbs into the sides of her smallclothes.

He bent down, slid them to her ankles, and remained very still for a few seconds at her feet.

"Um…" she said.

"Sorry," he said, slowly rising. "I was just…can I?"

Neriya nodded. "Yes."

Alistair took a deep breath, and tenderly touched her between her legs.

"You're very…"

"Yes," Neriya said.

"Is that because…"

"Yes," she repeated.

"Right," he said.

She clasped his wrist. "Let's go and sit on the bed, shall we?"

"All right." Alistair let Neriya lead him the very short distance to his cot. They sat on the bed and, almost without intending to, turned towards each other and kissed. Alistair cupped the smoothness of her cheeks with his somewhat rough palms.

"Well, that still works for me…" he said, sounding slightly surprised.

"For me, too."

"I suppose," said Alistair, "we have to give it a bit of a shake…I mean, conceivably, we could sit here all night and just chat and cuddle or something, yes? But the others are all going to talk now anyway, so it would be stupid not to try, I think."

"I would agree."

Neriya lay back onto the cot, and opened her legs. Alistair crawled over Neriya's body, and knelt between her knees. "Maker's breath you are beautiful," he said to her. He leaned closer, and planted a gentle kiss on the angle of her jaw. Alistair then propped himself on one hand, as he reached between his own legs to guide himself home. To his mortification, he could not quite find entrance.

He looked at Neriya, his face flushed. "Oh, this is embarrassing… I can't seem to…"

She reached down and grasped him. "There," Neriya said, pulling Alistair to her.

"Maker assist me, yes…" he said sliding into her.

After a moment, he became aware of a slight obstruction. "What's this…?" he said, hesitating. "I see…"

Alistair stopped moving then, poised just inside her. He propped himself up with his forearms to either side of Neriya's head, and gazed into her eyes under his lashes, his face taut. "I am going to hurt you, aren't I?"

She reached up and gently stroked his cheek. "You are so handsome when you look concerned."

He blinked. "Are you really sure you want me to do this?"

She held his gaze for a few moments "Alistair, of all the men in the world, you are my choice to do this."

He glanced away for a moment and sensed a light flush creeping into his cheeks. He looked back down at her. "Very well."

Alistair pulled back a little and then thrust forward, feeling her tense and then buckle under him. Neriya's belly pushed tightly against his, and her legs folded under his thighs and chest.

"Oh!" she cried, as he felt something give way inside her. Neriya's hands clenched against Alistair's shoulders as she convulsed.

He faltered.

"No," she gasped, "carry on. This will pass soon enough."

"It just seems wrong, that you should…" he began, catching his breath.

"Listen, you," she said as she ran her hand through his hair. She yanked it by the roots and made Alistair look at her. "I want you to enjoy yourself, to enjoy me."

He smiled uncertainly: "I am. You feel… I can't…"

Neriya released him and Alistair began moving within her again. She moved with him. He established a rhythm, as he moved deep inside her. She began to emit little groans and noises which he found strangely reassuring. Suddenly he seemed to lose the cadence again.

"Soon, now…" he rasped feeling a tug deep inside his groin.

In the heat of the moment, Neriya pulled Alistair tight against her.

Instinctively, Alistair forced himself into Neriya as far as he could go. His body tensed as his eyelids fluttered, "Oh Maker, oh…"and he reared back as pleasure took him for the first time in a lover's arms, Alistair felt himself seize and release deep inside her.

"I love you," he said, unable to contain himself. "I love you…"

* * *

Afterwards, Neriya pressed her face against Alistair's chest, listened to his deep, steady heartbeat, and began to shake.

"Are you all right? I didn't hurt you too much?" Alistair said wrapping his arms around her protectively. There was an odd intonation to his words.

Neriya pulled her face away from his torso and looked up at him. "It's very strange. I hurt, I'm a little sore, but I enjoyed it, too. It's difficult to explain. What about you?"

"I…I never thought anything could feel that good. I never believed it was possible to feel so much pleasure. I… thank you."

Some time later, when their hearts had both slowed a little, Alistair looked down at himself. "Oh, there's some blood on me… I'm sorry."

"Show me," she said.

"Look here, it's nothing… Just a few drops"

Neriya got up and retrieved a wash cloth from a small basin in the corner of the tent. Alistair sat up on the edge of the cot. Kneeling in front of him when she wiped him down she saw that he had began to harden again. "This is what you do to me, Neriya" he murmured. "This is all your fault…" He said arching his back sensually. Neriya didn't answer him immediately but turned, tossed the cloth into the basin and began kissing his swollen flesh with unbridled passion.

Before Alistair could adequately respond, Neriya had wrestled him to the cot, climbed on top of him, held his wrists down and was kissing his mouth with the same ardour, "Alistair" she said: "Every last bit of you, is mine. Every atom of your being, mine…"

"Neriya," he said, when he was able to speak between the kisses that tasted of both of them "Whatever you want, whatever you say… I surrender… I am yours"

* * *

That night was the first of many spent in each other's arms. When they woke the next morning, a little later than usual, they stepped cautiously between the debris of their lovemaking, attempting to make some rational sense of what had happened to them and the chaotic state of the tent with clothes and armour strewn everywhere.

They washed each other and then began to help each other dress as if this were something they had been doing all their lives.

Neriya felt her skin tingle in response when Alistair ran his lips over her neck again and whispered softly, "now I know a few more things about you…" as he was lacing up her robe.

"And I about you, of course," she remarked matter-of-factly, catching his eye and then glancing downwards towards his loins, whilst carefully adjusting his breastplate a few moments later.

Neriya was on her knees checking the fastening of his leg armour when Alistair added "You have given me so much." "No, Alistair" she said as he helped her up. "It was an exchange. An exchange of equal value."

They kissed, closing their eyes and taking their time to tease other with their tongues, making sure that when their lips eventually drew apart they were both left slightly unsatisfied. Almost breathless after the kiss Neriya said "A Templar's virtue for that of a Mage, that is a fair exchange." She offered him his shield. Alistair accepted it and slung it over his shoulder.

"Turn around," said Alistair, "a fair exchange… That's a good way of putting it," he observed as he secured her staff to her back.

"It will make us stronger for what is to come, I think." Neriya said.

Finally, Neriya held out his sword to him, "fight well today, Alistair, because tonight you are mine again."

"Oh I will, I will." Alistair replied wrapping his gauntleted hand gently around hers, so for a brief moment they were holding it together.

* * *

DA 9:32 Pluitanis/Guardian Denerim (two years later)

Since the pain coursing through her joints seemed to wake her close to dawn every day, it often fell to Gertrude to attend to the chapel early in the morning. She did not mind, she found the light exercise of sweeping tidying and setting up often eased the stiffness that seemed to have settled in her limbs overnight, and she enjoyed the solitude and quiet more than she really should.

So she was quite contentedly humming to herself as she went to reach for the broom in the little corner cupboard when she noticed there was someone sitting on the pews a few rows back from the altar. She sighed.

She walked to the front of the chapel. Ah, well, this was unexpected… it was him. The new one. In her well-nigh forty years working here she could count on the fingers of one hand the times that one of the "big people" as she mockingly called them to herself had come to seek counsel or consolation.

"Can I help you or do you just want to be alone a little while?"

Alistair looked up, slightly dazed, he wondered for a moment if he had fallen asleep, his memories of his first night with Neriya had seemed so intense. Could you dream a memory? He wasn't sure. Anyway he collected himself and addressed the small fragile lady looking down at him. "Sorry to trouble you so early but I have a question…"

"A question…"

"You're reverend mother Gertrude, right? I was told that I could find you here quite early, you have a certain reputation…"

"Very flattering, I'm sure… but probably not deserved…" she said taking a seat in the pew in front of him.

"It's about Andraste…" he said.

"Andraste"

"Yes, her… I don't know whether you know, you probably don't, but I was schooled in the abbey for a few years, I was going to become a Templar…"

"I didn't", she said, "so…"

"I hated it," he cut in, "every single, living moment of it, _hated _it…" His hands clasped in front of him tightened. She tried to make out his face but it was difficult, partly because of her poor eyesight and the dawn gloom and partly because he kept it down, looking at the floor in front of him.

"I see…" she replied hoping that this wouldn't turn into some kind of rant. Sometimes that happened, people got bitter or disappointed and would take it out on the Maker and his representatives.

"Sorry," he said, "but I've always liked Andraste… First because she was a Fereldan, goes without saying, really. Then because she was a woman, and I like women. Okay that sounds really crass… I never knew my mother… That sounds self-pitying, which it probably is… Ugh!" He ran one of his hands through his hair impatiently. "Also because she was a fighter, a warrior. She knew what it was to go into battle, to be injured, to lose those you love… I can identify with that, I identify with that more than ever now… And finally, she was brave. Once she was captured she knew what was going to happen, she must have been so frightened…"

"Please carry on." Gertrude said gently, somewhat intrigued.

"I wanted to be like her." He blurted "Ever since I was a child I wanted to face my test and face it bravely and I always thought I would. I was so confident I would pass and be brave… But when the time came I failed, I couldn't go through with it… Turns out I'm a coward after all. The type of person I despise…" He took a deep breath, "So here's my question. What would have happened if Andraste had refused to go through with it? I mean, what would have happened if she'd gotten wind of Maferath's plan to ambush her and turn her over to the Archon and she'd… I don't know… run away?"

"I like your question," said Gertrude, "I'm not sure you're aware that there are certain… traditions that say just that, that she knew what was going to happen but she nevertheless put her faith in the Maker and accepted her fate. They are not generally well known, it's something to meditate on… But to answer your question: The Maker would have found a way…"

"What do you mean?"

"He would have found someone else, perhaps. The Chantry may not have been exactly as we know it today, but its fundamentals would have been the same…"

"But what would have happened to Andraste, how would the Maker have punished her?"

"Why do you think he would have punished her?"

"Well she didn't obey… She refused His request, I guess, she…"

"One of the basic tenets of our creed is free will. My view would be, if she _had_ run away she would simply be exercising her free will. Obviously we would not venerate her throughout Thedas as we do today, but likewise, I doubt she would have been punished… Why do you ask?"

"Oh for the most banal, pitiful, pathetic, wretched reason of all… She … left… me…" He groaned and then started to cry.

Gertrude wasn't entirely sure what she was seeing here, whether the outburst was anger, grief or self-loathing or all of those things rolled into one. She was about to say that she hadn't been aware that the Queen had left Denerim but fortunately managed to bite her foolish old tongue just in time. It wasn't the Queen, of course, but the lover, and now she remembered her, the little elven mage in the beautiful red dress standing so still and grief struck in the shadows at the back of the chapel that day some two weeks ago.

Gertrude had seen her there because she was acting as usher rather than officiant at the royal wedding. They had brought in some flamboyant Reverend Mother from Amaranthine or somewhere of that ilk. Very fashionable and attractive in appearance, less impressive when it came to theology, and Gertrude who had been reciting the Chant at least once a day here for the last forty odd years, had been relegated to showing people to their places at the grand royal event.

She had asked, what was her name, Meriya? Something like that, where she wanted to be seated and the elf had thanked her most politely and said, "No I think my place is here" and had actually taken a step further back into the shadows. He, standing before the alter that day, hadn't looked too chipper, either, in fact, he looked tight and unhappy. Oh Gertrude, knew tight when she saw it…

She had let her mind wander, again, silly Gertrude, and he was still weeping his eyes out. She put her hand on his arm and like a child he snuffled "Leave me!" and shook it off. So as one does with children she sat back and waited till the storm had passed.

"I apologise" he had said eventually, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"I think I remember you," she said.

"Remember me?" he echoed hollowly, "From when?"

"Years back… Maric, your father…"

"That bastard…" he muttered.

"Brought you down when you were just a babe in arms, same blonde hair and hazel eyes… He asked me to bless you because he was sending you away…"

He sighed.

"You need to attend the recital of the Chant more frequently…"

"Somehow, I don't think that will assist…" he said rising.

"You should pray more…"

"I don't think that will assist…"

It always came down to this, people nowadays just did not want to take spiritual responsibility for themselves… "_I_ shall pray for you…"

He stopped and nodded and said "Thank you. In the meantime I think I'll go back to my lonely, fusty room and die or something…"


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Dragon 9:33 Eluviesta/Cloudreach

Denerim

At eight she took her place at the table opposite him. He waved at the food that smelled delicious, wholesome and spicy and said:

"Eat. I need to see you eat…"

"I didn't tell you earlier that the grey dress suited you did I? It does. Black suits you, red suits you, naked suits you best of all…" He paused, "okay so I said no sex, why do I always promise the stupidest things?"

Neriya thought she needed to get him off that subject rather quickly if their talke was to make any meaningful headway. "You still hate Anora, don't you? It's almost as bad as it was with Morri…"

It was as if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped a few degrees. "Don't say that name in my presence… Don't sully your mouth with that name."

His abruptness startled her, so she reached for a piece of bread and started chewing.

"I am sorry." He sighed and bowed his head and then looked up and said: "My idea. I'll start… I love you. There. Always have, always will. And there's nothing like being loved, is there? Even you know that, Neriya… That's what you came back for, isn't it? At least in part. Life can get a bit cruel, empty and hard out there when you're alone… It's clear to me that you're only just discovering that for yourself. I talked to Wynne. Actually, I talked to a lot of people after you left to try and get a better grip, not just on myself, but on you." He paused "I have no idea what it's like growing up in a closed environment like the tower. What was it that Wynne said? Something like 'you can take the mage out of the tower but you can't take the tower out of the mage'… My own childhood was open, too open perhaps, so sometimes I just can't see where you're coming from. But I don't humour myself that there's not something else, 'cause there's always something else with you…"

"My turn now." Neriya said and reached out and touched his hand. "I love you. I have never been sure you quite appreciate what that means. I have never figured out people. I don't understand them very well and that has been a problem. I had to make so many decisions and I think I took what thought was the most rational approach to them but I am now coming to understand most those weren't the best solutions when it came to you and the people affected. I should have consulted you more and listened to your views. I wasn't clever enough to do that at the time. So my belief is that what we should do is establish exactly how and when this went wrong and try and put it right…"

"Neriya. We both know where this went awry and I cannot see how you or I could ever put it right now. You may have made most of the decisions, but I consented to them, and I'm a big boy… No, that came out wrong… You know what I mean. What happened, happened and there's no good picking at it like the scab of an old wound, we have to move on…" His voice became almost beseeching. "Look at you, you went searching for that… that bitch and you've found nothing. Nothing. One precious year of your life, wasted. You exhausted yourself, nearly starved and returned empty handed…"

"Alistair, she is out there. The Blight did not properly end, Konrad was right, we will end up paying for this and so may many other people…"

"I'm not sure that's correct. So many things could have happened, perhaps she didn't conceive, perhaps she miscarried, perhaps the child is just a child. Ha, that would be funny, that one, serve the mangy bitch right. Perhaps, oh, I don't know… Konrad was full of it? You do know Konrad and his merry men were planning to kill us, don't you, if we'd put our feet wrong? Oh, now I remember, I didn't tell you that, I was protecting you…"

"Be that as it may… but the truth is one of us should have died and didn't…" Neriya paused wondering if she should finally say this out loud, "_you_ should have died."

Alistair sat back and said very quietly, "The tradition could be wrong, you know. I looked it up. The last Blight ended almost four hundred years ago in Antiva… that elven hero and grey warden, Ga…, whats-his-name, yes, he died on the battlefield, but you and I know that battlefields are dicey places… People tend to die on them, mundane deaths, though, not mystical. What concerns me today is not some demon child, dragon of beauty, old god, whatever, not even another Blight. It's famine. Famine next winter…"

Neriya leaned forward and found herself speaking very low, "Listen to your heart, Alistair, to your instincts, you've always had good ones, what do _they_ tell you?"

Alistair was silent for a moment and then shoved the plate in front of him away with such force that half the settings on the table went flying… Only honed, quick elven reflexes ensured that Neriya was able to skip out of her chair just in time and avoid being hit by something. Once the din of smashed crockery on tiled floor had died down, Alistair looked at his hands splayed on the table before him and said gloomily, "I need a drink."

"Is there something you haven't told me, Alistair, is there…"

"This conversation is bringing out all sorts of shit that I never wanted to even _think about_ let alone discuss, ever again…"

He got up and began to collect the things from the floor and stack them with some impatience back on the table. Neriya bent down and began to help him.

"Can we please just agree that I have lost that part of the argument and move on?" He said retrieving a broken plate.

Neriya nodded, "yes, I think we can."

"How old would her child be now, anyway?"

"About six months old… It was conceived Cassus 9:31…"

He sighed. "Of course. Okay, well, you've still to convince why it should be down to us to search for the bitch and the brat… Look at it this way, by the time it reaches 20, you and I will be no more than a handful of bones, rags and dust in some obscure corner of the Deep Roads…" He said sounding both tired and reasonable. "Haven't we already done enough? What stake do we have in the future anyhow? Wouldn't it just be best to muddle through, make do with what we have, attempt to do a few practical things… Be happy? Make each other happy? What is the harm in that? Haven't we earned it?"

"You mean I should forget all about this and stay in Denerim as your mistress?"

"And councillor, don't forget, my councillor. Yes, I mean exactly that."

"But no-one will ever see me as anything but your elven mistress. Look at how your fellow humans treat us. Look at me. They can't get my name right, they are not aware that hero of Ferelden is an elf, you couldn't marry me even if you wanted to, you couldn't be King and marry me, in any event… I am… irrelevant. More than that, I am a liability to you… "

"Remember when I kissed you in the market place after the wardens had released us? I did that on purpose to make a statement. The statement being that humans and elves can get on, yes that sounds so stupid and trite put into words, because to the both of us it is just so blindingly obvious. But people, dumb humans, are influenced by what they see, if they see us making out in front of them they might just begin to question some of fixed ideas that have kept our species' apart. That is a good thing, a noble thing, if you stayed we could work at it. Together we could change things on that front here, and change them for the better and forever…"

"That's just your dick talking, Alistair, and you know it… Men always talk with their dicks…"

"Oh really? How would you know, Neriya? How many men have you been with apart from me? How many other dicks do you know intimately? Bet you didn't let Cullen and Jowan get a word in edgeways before you slew them, poor fucks… Yes sometimes my dick does talk for me and what it says is sensible and right!"

There was a long pause. He looked up at the ceiling seeing only gloom. Neriya propped her chin on her hand.

"Alistair, we are both making this personal and it really isn't about us, is it? To a large extent we've both been caught up in forces beyond our control. We had the best of intentions, we attempted to protect and preserve each other, as any other loving couple would, and it went terribly wrong."

"No. Of course it isn't personal. So tell me, what did you find out in the Wilds?"

"As regards… whatsherface and Flemeth… Nothing. Flemeth's place seemed abandoned. The Chasind are hospitable once you get to know them, much maligned…"

"And what are your plans… Oh wait," He said holding up his hand, "Let me guess… Orlais…"

"As I promised her that day at the gates of Denerim, I will hunt her down and set this right. If there is an opportunity for me on my own, I take it. If not, I alert you and or the grey wardens…"

"That plan," Alistair said slowly, "has so many wrongs in it I wouldn't know where to begin…"

"And our plan for ending the Blight was what, Alistair? We never improvised, of course…"

His features hardened. "I see. You are going to go through with this, whatever I say…"

"Put like that: Yes."

"Why do you always have to so blunt, Neriya? Couldn't you just, you know, dress it up for me, lessen the blow…"

"Alistair, there is no kind way to do this, is there? That's exactly what I was trying to do last time when I left without telling you beforehand. I was going to leave a few days after your wedding… I kept waking up ready to collect my things and leave and finding you embracing me or mumbling in your sleep like you do, or just snoring on your back and I, just looking at you… I, just… I just… couldn't do it… I kept postponing it."

It hadn't really started well but it went very much downhill from then onwards. Although they went to bed together, Alistair was surly and lay moping with his back to her on his side of the bed refusing to respond to her caresses. She snuggled up to him nonetheless and hoped sleep would eventually come. More than likely, it did, because he woke her the next morning running his fingers gently over the angle of her jaw.

"The problem is," he began, "I don't ever want to have to let you go… But perhaps we can agree a few things?"

They agreed she would stay six weeks in Denerim and then go with him to Orzammar from whence she would depart for Orlais. She would return by early winter.

* * *

About half an hour before midday, a few days later, Casildea was attempting to open all the wooden shutters in the little room she had been given adjoining the courtyard in Denerim Palace. One of them had warped with all the damp weather and she had to hit it really hard with the heel of her hand in order to get it to budge from the frame. The room had been a stable or a blacksmith's workshop before and when she had first moved in, she couldn't believe how cold it was, even with the fireplace… Now, however, the weather was slowly improving and conditions were somewhat better.

The first thing Neriya noticed about Casildea was that their height and build were very similar, although the other woman was slightly stockier. The second was that she had lots of thick, shiny black hair.

Neriya was about to start talking, when, without turning and still hitting the shutter, Casildea said: "Okay, okay, I should start earlier, but I work late and you only pay me by the piece anyway, as for that ruddy bathroom ceiling… And, no, I am not bonking you for a second time, Your Majesty…"

When she turned round and saw Neriya, her perfect mouth made a perfect "O", nevertheless she recovered well. She stomped over to an ancient dresser cluttered cups plates and other utensils stained with paint of all different hues, and from behind a jug holding some coarse brushes, pulled out a dark bottle poured herself something in a cup and drank it down.

"So what's it going to be then? Please not banishment… Again."

Since Neriya did not reply immediately, Casildea filled another cup and held it out to her mutely.

"Isn't it a bit early?" Queried Neriya but took it anyway and sipped it carefully. It tasted fresh and dry and had the tang of summer about it.

"That's the thing about you Fereldans, you always say, 'it's too early' or 'that's not right' and then you drink it or do it anyway…" She continued "since you're the quietish type I gather it's simply going to be all my commissions suddenly drying up over the next few months as you talk to all your powerful friends about how that nasty little Antivan painter seduced your wonderful, um… royal boyfriend and encourage them to take their business elsewhere… That'll have the same end effect as banishment in that I will have to leave, anyway."

"I don't think I really have any powerful friends apart from Alistair…"

"That's enough, though, since he's my sole patron here."

"So when did you two, ahem, do it?"

Casildea looked up, "two, three months ago?"

"Why?"

"Oh Please! Just banish me and be done, already…"

Neriya stuck out her chin and crossed her arms. "Well?"

"Why? Because I've never done a King before, a count, that'll be the equivalent to one of your Banns, several _hidalgos_, a _marquesa_… She was nice and we were both drunk. But not a king. I thought it would be a good story to tell my grandchildren, when I eventually get round to having children… And because I felt sorry for him, okay? That's how I knew it was you, he described you to me because, really it was you he wanted, not me. It was getting so bad that he even began to miss, _it_, if you follow my drift."

"And why weren't you going to do it again?"

"Because I'm in a serious relationship and because he's not really my type… Lawler's more my type, but that's another story…"

"But it's not Lawler you're seeing…"

"Nope."

"Andraste's love, how can people be so complicated…"

Casildea winked at her, "you know, you sound like him…"

"I should think so, we've been together for almost four years, something had to rub off." Said Neriya. "So" she added trying to pull off her best frown but finding it very difficult indeed to frown consciously, "I might forego the banishment or other punishment if you do me two favours. First of all, Alistair wants you to paint my picture…"

"Oh, I know exactly what he wants…" She went over to a small table in the farthest corner of the room on which there were several canvases all stacked neatly on their sides, she selected two that were the same size and put them both against the wall back towards them. "He wants me to paint a picture of you that can be paired up with this one." She turned one of the canvases around.

There stood Alistair or at least three quarters length of him in a regal looking but sombre suit with the rampant griffon emblem of the grey Wardens emblazoned on his left breast. His face bore a serious, thoughtful, expression but there was something wistful in his eyes. His right hand resting lightly on what very clearly was the pommel of Starfang and his left poised on the griffon with his index finger straight while the others were slightly flexed. Neriya took a step back and considered it very carefully.

"No crown" said Casildea interrupting her thoughts, "he said something about it mussing his hair but it might have been modesty. So I put it on that cushion to the left of him. There had to be some way to indicate royalty. As for that emblem," she said waving towards the griffon, "he insisted I include it. He said belonging to the order had marked him forever and he wanted posterity to know that… Not sure that makes any sense to you…"

"Perfect sense." Said Neriya smiling despite herself.

"Obviously the right hand on his sword…"

"Starfang" interjected Neriya.

"Starfang" repeated Casildea, "means he is a fighter and not afraid to use force. As for the left…" Casildea's rather thick dark brows drew slightly together, "that kind of gesture is more commonly found in women's portraits it means 'I follow my heart' or 'I am guided by my emotions', not that it looks at all effeminate on him, of course, this is Alistair, King of Ferelden, he might just start a new trend… But I tried to persuade him to make some gesture in the Antivan style towards the crown, his source of power, and he said that the crown was just incidental, he wasn't particularly interested in it. Clearly the left hand emphasises the griffon once again but I do not quite get the meaning of the extended index finger…"

Neriya replicated the same gesture on her own chest, "I think I understand…" she said slowly. "I think he is counting his heartbeats and perhaps even inviting the viewer to count his heartbeats with him…"

"But why?" Asked Casildea, shaking her long black glossy hair, "I don't understand and I don't like not understanding what is in my own pictures…"

"I may be wrong," said Neriya, "but in any event it is not my secret but his. Perhaps one day you should ask him and he may tell you."

"At any rate," Casildea said, "he was quite difficult to portray. When I first met him I told him his features were bland… And so they are, overall, but once you get to know him… Usually bland features are easy to paint, but with him… There's something else there or several something elses. I tried to reflect that but found it extremely difficult to capture. Posing too was troublesome, he is such a fidget, always looking down at a book, wandering around the studio touching stuff, questions, questions, questions, chatting or trying to chat me up… So distracting… I am not trying to blame him, it seemed almost a reflex… Now look…" She said and turned the second canvas round.

"Anora"

"She had no trouble posing whatsoever. Perfect discipline, like a block of ice, no wonder he doesn't get on with her…"

Anora was wearing a crown, a small one, but a crown nevertheless. Her hands were folded in front of her the fingers interlaced a glove on one hand, the other uncovered.

"She was easy." Casildea shrugged.

"But…" objected Neriya.

Casildea went over to the canvases again, selected another one and came back, "Ah-ha" she said and turned it around, it was almost identical to the first Alistair portrait.

Neriya could not avoid smiling, "I see…"

"Politics and portraiture," said Casildea, curtseying, "my speciality."

Neriya finished her drink with a gulp.

"Now, I think your pose should be different, I should say your body should be turned slightly to one side, facing towards his, of course, but with your face looking forwards…"

"Because I am his mistress?" Asked Neriya.

"Yes, but also because you are his love. Apart from that, I think it would favour you. No crown for you, of course but I can incorporate your staff. Do you wish to have the Grey Warden emblem too?" Neriya nodded, "of course you do. Like that it will also be apparent that you have more in common with him than the Queen." She paused, "now you were a virgin when you met him…"

"That…"

"So sorry, he likes to talk and I like to ask. Unfortunately I have a pretty good memory, too… Would you like that represented, we could pose you with an ermine or something…"

"An ermine?"

"It's a kind of rodent, it…"

"Ugh, no rodents, can't stand them."

"Okay… We could have your hair loose…"

"It frizzes."

"Right. How about a white rose somewhere?"

"Discreetly, no need to rub it in."

"Fair enough, like his crown, then?"

"Exactly."

"Have you thought of a dress? He mentioned something about a red silk one…"

Neriya paused for a moment. That particular dress, which she was now convinced he had carefully preserved somewhere in her absence, brought all sorts of memories with it. Their argument about what she should wear, how he had had it made for her and used the colour to pick her out from the crowd on the day of his marriage. Finally, a less than sober Alistair wantonly making love to her against a wall in a side room very shortly before his bedding. Of all their times together, for some reason, it was that one, perhaps because of its very shamelessness, that had most stuck with her while they were apart; that was the scene she used to lovingly replay in her memory when she had felt cold and lonely in the Wilds. _Well, if she wasn't going to stay in Denerim as his mistress the very least she could give him was that_.

"Yes. I know which one he means, I shall see if I can find it. I'm sure it must be stored somewhere."

"Now" and Casildea yanked her own hair back, in a universal gesture between elves, "I would like very much like to show your ears."

"I have no objection. I am equally sure he won't either."

"As good as done then," agreed Casildea, "Can you come and pose for several days?"

"I have no choice, I guess, since I am at His Majesty's command… Half past midday for the next week. I expect you to provide some of that refreshment."

"We shall see, favoured one…"

"Now, my second requirement…" said Neriya, "I have heard that some artists can draw portraits from description alone… There is someone I very much would like a picture of… Would you be willing to give it a go?"

"I would, though it sounds like a bit of a challenge" Casildea crossed the room and pulled out her charcoal and sketch pad from a cupboard.

"She's a human female, a little older than myself, her face is an almost perfect oval…"


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Dragon 9:30

Denerim

Morrigan blamed Alistair.

She stood on a hillock some five miles south of Denerim, looking down at the city that lay on the horizon, wondering almost idly if the companions would succeed in slaying the Archdemon today. Even from where she stood she could hear the distant echoes of cries and the din of destruction.

For a few days now she had felt different but, more than different, not quite right. Of course, she had expected to feel different, not having ever been in this state before, and in practical terms she was unfamiliar with everything it entailed, but she had not expected to feel uncomfortable and ill at ease.

Just a few nights ago she had woken with a start from some very strange dreams and had had to rush out of her tent to relieve herself. This was disturbing because Morrigan usually held sway over her dreams very well, but these dreams… it was as if they belonged to someone else, someone completely different. She disliked the feeling that by some means she had been taken over, even if it was only temporarily. Morrigan had then, once back in her cot, attempted to regain the control she had lost, by recalling and dissecting the dreams but they seemed to elude her not inconsiderable powers of conscious evocation, which, in itself, was strange.

Shortly after they had departed from Redcliffe, Morrigan had began to feel queasy and smells began to disturb her, as if the world around her were suddenly crowding around her pushing up against her, too close. The impulse to transform and run, creep or, better still, spread wings and fly away had never been stronger but she resisted it very keenly, because she felt in those last few weeks of the campaign to end the Blight, preserving her human form and presence among the companions was crucial in order to avoid arousing suspicion.

She had already felt Riordan eying her somewhat warily, but Riordan she perceived was far from at his best. His recent mistreatment in Howe's dungeon had shaken him more than he would ever wish to show the others, and, as the senior warden now, there was too much else weighing on his mind.

Zevran on the other hand, was another matter, he had sauntered over one evening and crouched down in front of her fire:

"Morrigan, my dear, tell me what you did…"

"I have done nothing… At least nothing that should concern _you_."

"I see…" he had said looking into the flames. "and why would you lie to me, I wonder?"

"Why would you ask?"

"Let me see now… Because if you have done something, then I might consider it appropriate to depart from my usual mercenary strictures…"

Morrigan decided it was best to cut to the chase, "I would like to see you try and take me on, elf."

He had smiled up at her, his most disarming smile, "Who knows? Perhaps one day I shall"

Morrigan attempted to console herself by recalling how good it had felt to humiliate Alistair.

At first when making the preparations for the ritual following Flemeth's instructions, she had been in two minds as to whether she wanted it to be him or not.

But then, shortly after freeing the Tower of Mages (a pointless, fruitless task in her view, if ever there were one, they should have simply allowed the Templars to perform the rite of annulment. Those who did not fight tooth and nail for their freedom deserved neither freedom nor life…), she had felt extremely… irritated, when it became apparent that Alistair and Neriya had lost their virginity to each other. She felt, in fact, like sticking her own fingers down the back of her throat and vomiting when the next morning they had emerged from his tent flushed and still excited, arm in arm.

Morrigan realised then that she would have taken great delight in being the one to deprive him of his virtue and in so doing to tarnish forever his first experience of physical love. To make a mark on him such that he would never be able to forget or set aside, to punish him for his arrogance and his self-assuredness.

Still, she had, however, quickly grasped that the relationship between the two gave her plans a new strength and she felt better when she considered that instead of humiliating one of them, she could demean them both. Neriya, she decided, deserved to suffer as much as Alistair precisely because the little fool mage had now set herself in thrall to the idiot Templar.

Her mind returned to the present. Yesterday she had started bleeding and she was still bleeding today, just lightly, but again, this caused her some concern.

'Twas no matter it they were not successful, she told herself. She did not care for any of them. If they failed she would simply start again, abort the child, decamp to Orlais and find another weak-minded, new-minted Grey Warden to use for the ritual. She almost felt relief at that thought.

* * *

"You see," she recalled Flemeth saying about six years earlier, "without their armours, swords and their feeble magics they are nothing. Less than nothing: Men." Flemeth's lips twitched slightly as she said this. "It is time, Morrigan, to see how the little games of catch we play with the Templars end. The strong survive and the weak perish, and the strong prey on the weak… 'twas ever nature's way… Do not think for a moment that they would do anything less to us, if the boot were on the other foot."

Morrigan looked over at the Templar secured to her cot, he was naked, pitiful and very young, but ready. He seemed to react to her gaze "I am Tom…" he said, "Tom…" as if the fear had not only paralysed his power of speech but frozen his thoughts. She supposed fear did that. It was a most efficacious weapon.

"You might want to silence him." Said Flemeth, "… you know how to, girl, but then… you might not…" She paused "The spell has been twisted, they spend, they die. We take some of their strength and power, such as it is, within ourselves through the act."

Morrigan turned towards the cot. "Leave us, mother." She had said. It was the first time she had issued anything resembling a command to Flemeth. But Flemeth had nodded, cast a brief look at the young Templar, and left.

She hadn't silenced him. Between groans and shudders, he had wept throughout their dealings, pleading with her and calling for his mother. Morrigan had remained quiet beyond her own murmured responses to the act, as indeed there was enjoyment to be had there, between his thighs. When at last he had spilled himself inside her, Tom had moaned one last time and whispered "Andraste…". She did not know whether from fear or pleasure or both. She did not care to dwell on that overmuch.

A little later, without knowing precisely why, she had ripped the Templar amulet from Tom's neck and, leaving the room and with it clenched tightly in her fist, had stepped outside.

"So, my Morrigan, now you know what it is to be a woman and powerful…" Flemeth had greeted her and then looked up into the trees around their hut where the fresh bodies and older bones were dancing in the breeze of a pleasant day in the Kocari Wilds and laughed that savage cackle of hers. "That father you so often ask me about, he may have been one such as that poor boy…" and she had pointed her chin towards the hut and the room where young dead Tom now lay and continued to cackle hysterically.

Morrigan had never asked about her father again.

* * *

Alistair had said, "Let's get this over with quickly."

Morrigan had not responded but smiled and finished casting aside her clothes. There was no humour in him now, no light-heartedness. She sensed anger, humiliation and shame in equal and confused amounts. Still smiling, she approached the bed where he lay naked swivelling her hips.

She clambered onto the bed and noticed that Alistair had already began to harden. Morrigan saw his chest was criss-crossed with scars. Strange that, of course she was aware that occasionally he had been injured, but not so frequently, she tried to reconcile him having sustained so many injuries with the usual happy go lucky personality he projected. They did not quite seem to mesh.

Morrigan straddled him and reached out to touch his cheek, wordlessly he slapped her hand away. So instead she reached down and, tensing her thighs, pulled him to her and held him still there for a very long moment, hovering above him. Alistair turned his face to the side, breathing deeply. Were those tears she saw in his eyes below his long fair lashes? 'Twas no matter. Morrigan sunk down onto him. Alistair gasped. Morrigan made sure she moaned very loudly.

Who would have thought? Alistair was large and mounting him was extremely satisfying, even for an experienced woman such as herself. She rode him hard, arching her back, touching him and herself between her legs, running her fingers over her nipples, continuing to vocalise her enjoyment of him.

All the while, though, she was attempting to read him and what she perceived disturbed her slightly. He was more complex than she had thought, stronger and more resourceful, perhaps. His feelings had depths and twists that she could not quite follow. She regretted somewhat tussling with him so superficially and neglecting to pay him more focussed attention.

At one point, close to loosing her balance, Morrigan thought she had achieved a breakthrough when she leaned both her hands on his chest and she sensed a flash of desperate uncontrolled anger course through him. Ah, sweet anger, the easiest emotion to manipulate. In her mind, she clasped it to her and caressed it… She had then leaned down even lower and whispered into his ear: "Give me more of this, Alistair, I can use this…"

For a brief moment he had jerked his face towards her and looked her square in the eyes. Then Alistair's fists had clenched the bedclothes under them, he turned his face away once again, and it was as if unyielding shutters had suddenly descended over his thoughts and feelings, cutting her off entirely.

For the remainder of their interaction, Morrigan was unable to obtain any additional emotional leverage. Eventually she had come, making a great show of noisily broadcasting her contentment. Alistair had followed shortly afterwards, briefly releasing inside her, suppressing a groan or a whimper by biting his lips and his tongue.

Morrigan had dismounted then and attempted fruitlessly to catch his eye. Alistair's face remained stubbornly turned away. With a theatrical sigh she had began to collect her clothing from the floor and dress. Morrigan cast one last look towards the bed. He remained there perfectly immobile, shrugging, she opened the door and left the room.

* * *

On the roof of Fort Drakon Alistair realised he had never felt so tired in his entire life. He was bleeding, not badly, he thought, but it did not help either his stamina or his strength. As usual, there was no pain, being in the midst of battle always did that for him, but it would certainly come afterwards.

He hit a hurlock on the side of the head with his shield and pushed him out of his path, closing in on the Archdemon that Neriya seemed to be holding bespelled a few tantalizing steps away. Out of the blue, he felt a surge of power wash over him. _Wynne_. Thank the Maker for Wynne… and for Neriya, he quickly added, and even that deviant Zev… _Stop praying, you wretched Templar_, he said to himself, _and DO something instead_… The Maker assists those who assist themselves, he battered aside a few more darkspawn…

He was now under the beast he realised. The vault of its chest was above him or was that the pit of its belly? Whatever. He slashed at it and slashed again. It… yelled, screamed, screeched, loud, anyway. Blood poured over him, blinding him with red for a moment… _I like this_, Alistair thought dementedly, _I bleed, you bleed, she bleeds (where did __**that**__ come from?), let's all bleed together, children. So long as you bleed out first, you sodding bastard_… Fun. Such fun. Unseeing he thrust Starfang upwards, meeting flesh again. Vision recovered, a claw made for his eyes and he rebuffed it with his shield. Another spell must have hit the Archdemon and it visibly sagged. _Nothing like my sweet destructo mage_… He stepped out from under the beast with a sense of anticipation.

It was thrashing in the pool of its own blood. With one last effort that he did not know he had in him, Alistair jumped on the beast's narrow head as it curved in his direction. Dropping his shield and gripping Starfang in both hands with all his remaining strength Alistair drove its sharpened glittering arc cleanly through the thick vault of the Archdemon's skull. It squealed. Definitely a squeal this time, it thrashed one last instance and was still. He let himself fall on his knees into the pool of scarlet below, supporting himself with his hands.

Suddenly, a feeling of overwhelming joy seized him: It had been done, it was right and it had been done. _He_ had done it. Part of him seemed to dance free for the briefest of moments in the purest light. Those thoughts and feelings that had weighed so heavily against his heart for the last two weeks had lifted. He was about to turn and shout to everyone around him there and tell them, even though he realised words would fall so short of what he was burning to express, even though her realised they would be unable to understand barely a fraction of what he was feeling, when something else took him.

It was as if Alistair had been dropped from a great height. For a moment he thought of Riordan, dashed and broken against the ground. A blunt shock hit his body, his heart stilled, his lungs felt as if they had suddenly turned to stone and he gasped. His mouth gaping stupidly. His left hand desperately flew to his throat and then his chest and began to rip fruitlessly at his armour in an attempt to find some relief. Then from blunt pain it seemed to develop claws and began to tear at Alistair, seeking to shred everything he was, ever had been, ever would be…

His body was already taken and seemed to be just a dead weight. Inside the occupied fortress, Alistair's mind struggled pointlessly a few desperate moments more, pinned down, helpless and screaming soundlessly as it was rent and ripped to pieces by a thousand sharpened instruments made expressly for the purpose.

A part of him he had always taken for granted but never had the decency to acknowledge, held out in the very last room. Serene, compact, brave and determined, but afraid, so very, very afraid, about to loose everything. Backed against the wall, unarmed and defenceless, within a hair's breath of abject defeat but readying itself, smiling, smiling, smiling…

And just as suddenly it was gone, as if a veil had been lifted a chain broken… Everything taken restored. What was rent, made whole again. The monster shook its head, withdrew and passed him by.

Alistair's chest shuddered, now free, with the first breath of his merciful rebirth, his limbs jerked, he kicked out spasmodically and rolled onto his back wriggling like a newborn in the pool of the Archdemon's blood. Above he saw the sky was grey but clouds still wandered serenely. Perhaps it would rain. Sound returned.

"Alistair, Alistair!… Are you all right, Alistair…" and Neriya bent over him and was screaming and crying and lay her face on his armour, just above his heart. Alistair reached out with his hand and gently laid it on the back of her head, staining her white hair with crimson…

* * *

It began to rain. In her frustration and impatience Morrigan started kicking a tussock. There was no shelter anywhere nearby that she could see and she was too tired to begin to assemble her tent. Why couldn't they just hurry up? She was about to turn her back to the view and see if there was some kind of cave in the vicinity when she heard a roar from the direction of the distant city. A pillar of light suddenly began to surge from above Fort Drakon and billow into the angry clouds…

Well, well something had come to pass after all…

Before she could properly comprehend what was happening a shard of light separated itself out from the pillar and began travelling at a vertiginous speed in her direction**. **Morrigan groaned as it hit her in the stomach, she fell to her knees struggling for air as her hands scrabbled spasmodically in the dirt as if she were a dog or a rat…

After a few seconds she stopped, stared stupidly down at the torn earth and then sat back on her heels. She held up her hands covered with filth and calmly perused her bleeding fingernails. The feeling of drowning, the pain, it was all still there but she had just realised it was not hers. She took her right hand and tentatively lay it over her belly. This was not good.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Dragon 9:33 Ferventis/Justinian

The north road

"Feels just like old times," said Alistair as they left behind the outskirts of Denerim on the first day of their journey to Orzammar. "Except with better clothes, nicer tents, improved equipment and supplies and an armed escort of 15 men… Nothing like old days at all then, except for the walking part, of course," he clapped his hands together. "So what do we talk about Neriya?"

"How about Casildea?"

Alistair paused most of his jubilance dissipated at a stroke, Neriya felt sorry for him but she felt she needed to bring it up as early as possible just to get it out of the way. However, she could not but admire how he attempted to brazen it out. "She said she'll have your portrait ready by the time I get back to Denerim…"

"Ah-ha, but she also told me that you and her…"

"By the Maker, cannot _one_ of my lapses remain… Lapsed?"

"Apparently not. She said one thing too many and then invited me to a drink…"

Alistair fumbled. "It wasn't… I wasn't intending to… but it wasn't her fault… I was… but… Anyway it was a one-off that happened several months ago now."

"Alistair," Neriya said quietly, "if you are going to take lovers should you not at least ensure they are discreet? You are King now, what will people think?"

A look of annoyance crossed his features. "Now you sound just like Anora," he said accusingly, "and why should I be concerned what people think? That is for them to decide surely? You yourself mentioned that song. Even if I were I to behave like a perfect virgin Templar from here onwards it seems to me that that could not be undone… Nor would I particularly care to undo it." He paused, his jaw working, "finally, you know me, I probably wouldn't want a lover that was discreet, would I? Given a choice I think I would choose enthusiasm over discretion any day of the year."

"I worry about you…"

"No, Neriya, if you really worried about me you would not have left in the first place and you would not be set on leaving me now…"

Neriya held up her hands as if in surrender. "You are right. It is not my place to judge you…"

"No it isn't" he said stiffly, "Not on this. It really isn't."

* * *

Overall, though, Neriya had to admit, apart from the concern that his wayward reputation caused her, she was quite impressed at the life Alistair had made for himself as King in Denerim.

His meetings with Anora were far less cordial than she had hoped, but there seemed be a fertile and creative tension between the two of them, a sort of give and take, of which they both appeared to be, almost comically, oblivious.

She attended several of Alistair's Orlesian classes and was surprised to see how articulate and confident he was in that language. Mme Lafarge, who apparently had been Connor's grammar teacher, seemed overall to be quite happy with Alistair and conversation flowed between them very freely, so much so that Neriya who had studied some basic Orlesian in the tower was unable, for the most part, to follow.

At the end of the first class she attended Mme had turned to Neriya and said to her, "his reading, conversation and comprehension are all what I would expect from an educated person. Not a King, mind, but an educated person," for all the world as if Neriya were Alistair's anxious mother, rather than his bemused lover:

Neriya glanced over at Alistair, he was shuffling his feet and staring out of the window, more like a nervous schoolboy than a King.

Probably wholly aware of the effect she was having on him, Mme Lafarge persisted, "his composition, though, leaves something to be desired… Frankly he needs to concentrate a little more on his written skills otherwise he risks disgracing _le tout Ferelden_ and he needs to spend more time on his _devoirs_."

"No pressure, then." Muttered Alistair after she had left.

Dalish was another matter altogether. Alistair seemed to struggle even at the most elementary level under the kindly tutelage of an amiable elder who, inevitably, hailed from the alienage.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," Alistair confessed to Neriya later. "I just thought it would be important. Seems to me that even the thought processes behind the language are different, like they are working to a different timescale or something. But he, Brannion, is a fascinating character. He's lived forever and fought in countless wars. Once I mentioned something about the Blight and he nodded and then said, 'Oh, I see, you mean this _last_ one…'" But Alistair persisted nonetheless and the elder seemed very impressed by the mere fact that he was making a genuine effort.

* * *

Neriya's efforts in the library did not go as well as she had hoped. There seemed to be nothing in all the documents she perused that she did not already know about Flemeth and her daughters.

She did, however, after a few weeks, come upon something wholly unexpected. Between two tattered volumes there was a humble, frugally bound, assemblage of the poorest kind of parchment covered in tiny meticulous handwriting. As soon as she began riffling through it she realised that it was a sort of diary, but not of the personal kind. Reading a few of the rather trite entries at random she deduced that it belonged to one of the royal household stewards or chamberlains. The document went from around DA 9:02 to DA 9:25.

The chamberlain seemed quite a querulous person, always out of sorts, or perhaps Maric was just a very demanding King to serve and the chamberlain did not take enough leave:

"_9:04 Firstfall: The King says he wishes to sup on pike sometime next week… Pike, pike! How am I to procure pike this time of year?"_

Neriya was about to place the papers back where she had found them when another entry caught her eye.

"_9:08 Drakonis: Two of those Grey Wardens have returned. The one from Rivain who resembles a street urchin and has now grown a beard and the little Orlesian elven mage, who the King seems to be much taken with. Where do they recruit these people? They look like Orlesian riff-raff to me… The King arranged to meet them both in the great hall very late last night. I had to take them to him dressed only in my nightwear. So humiliating! Today he was walking about the palace bearing a blond male child in his arms, and I have been ordered to find a wetnurse and to make arrangements for them both to travel to Redcliffe in a few days' time…"_

Neriya scoured the rest of the document following this note but could find no further references to the child, which seemed to make an odd kind of sense.

Going backwards, however, she found another interesting record.

"_9:06 Haring: The King has left for Orzammar with a group of seven Grey Wardens. He has instructed us that we should delay informing Councillor Loghain of his departure for as long as possible."_

_

* * *

_

That evening she had asked Alistair when he was born:

"Sometime in 9:07 Kingsway, don't know precisely what day, why do you ask?"

Since they were both preparing for bed, Neriya had limited herself to fluttering her eyelids, putting her arms around him and kissing him on the lips. Her question was very quickly forgotten in the throes of affection.

* * *

A few days later, she decided to pay a visit to the Grey Warden Chapter House in Denerim.

Dummond, was, as always, was happy to see her and asked about her recent absence. Neriya was slightly cagey in reply, but hoped she had given him the impression that she had spent most of her time away from Denerim in the Circle Tower and Orzammar. Neriya asked him how he was settling in in Ferelden and, somewhat to her surprise, Dummond grinned very widely and said that he now felt thoroughly at home and that things were good. Neriya wondered for a moment whether he had found somebody, he did have a glow of contentment about him. He also asked after Alistair and said they had gone out several times together for a drink and they occasionally sparred.

"He's very good," said Dummond, "fast and wily," and then he smiled, "but of course, you know that."

Neriya then got down to business and asked him whether the Chapter House kept records of the Grey Wardens joined in Ferelden and of the comings and goings of those from abroad passing through on the order's business. Dummond replied that indeed they did and returned after five minutes with a very orderly ledger. Neriya asked whether he would mind terribly leaving her alone with the book for about half an hour and Dummond suddenly recalled that he had some armour to polish.

She was somewhat disappointed to see that the ledger only began in 9:08, however, the very first entry made her catch her breath.

"_9:08 Cloudreach: First entry. Have just returned from Redcliffe. I am sure Fiona's son will do well there, it is a beautiful area sited on the shores of Lake Calenhad. The Arl and his young brother seem hospitable and kind, if still grieving for their late sister and were quite taken with the boy. The King is most grateful and true to his word has bequeathed this property in Denerim to the order to act as our headquarters. He has also made clear that he intends to return Soldier's Peak to the order in due course. Duncan of Rivain_

The rest of the ledger was not so interesting but Neriya did note that Duncan had made several entries over the years from 9:08 to 9:30 recalling his comings and goings and frequently mentioning visits to Redcliffe and the Tower of Mages. No further mention was made of the child, however.

Now Neriya faced a dilemma. She decided that she was not quite certain enough to inform Alistair. Neither did she think it was right to cause him further distress in what was already going to be a distressful period for him. But she did not want to close off all the avenues to her lover and, knowing Alistair as she did, she was sure he would rather know that not know, even if the knowledge might cause him pain. So she decided on a risky, intermediate course.

She went downstairs and found Dummond in the basement, the same basement, in fact, where Alistair and her had been held, surrounded by dozens of pieces of armour, some of which could perhaps fit him, other parts obviously not. Dummond was very busily scrubbing away at some pauldrons with a cloth dipped in oil. At his feet there were brushes and cloths of varying textures and materials some with wire bristles. He smiled when he saw her shrugged and said, "Life is good."

"Can I ask you for a favour, Dummond?"

"You can…," he said somewhat warily, pausing in his work.

"Can you not mention to Alistair that I was here today?"

Dummond sighed and looked down at the piece of armour on his lap, "I won't"

"Please also don't tell him about my checking the ledger…"

"Fine. But what if he should ask?"

"Then tell him, tell him both things." Neriya pursed her lips, "But also… If sometime in the future he should come to you with questions about himself… I know this sounds really vague, hand him the ledger and tell him I perused it."

Dummond glanced at her and then shook his head, "I don't know what is going on here but this all sounds a little complicated to me. I consider him a good friend and I think of you as a very good friend, too. Wouldn't it be better if you spoke to him directly about whatever it is?"

"I'll think about it…"

Dummond shook his head "I know when a woman says that she really means 'no'… but I shall keep my word."

Resignedly the qunari picked up another piece of armour and started rubbing.

* * *

As for the memoirs of the querulous chamberlain, Neriya decided to write a note to Alistair, to future Alistair, for him to find should he ever stumble upon it, and leave it between the pages of the diary that she returned to its former position in the library.

It was their sixth day on the road when one of the scouts reported back that he had seen a group of some twenty-five darkspawn a little up ahead. Upon hearing this news Alistair stood transfixed to the spot.

"Maker, Maker, Andraste…" Lawler standing next to him heard him crow, "This must be the most unfortunate darkspawn hoard this side of Orzammar and I am one LUCKY BOY!"

Suddenly Alistair was no longer standing beside him, he and Neriya followed by the rather tired scout where hot footing it towards the supply wagon. Out of instinct, Lawler turned and followed.

"Armour, my armour!" Alistair was shouting and then turning to the winded scout, "are you sure, they are coming this way, are you sure now?"

"Yes, Your Maj…" replied the scout doubled up in pain.

"Good man" he said gently to the scout and then "My armour you idiot!" to the unfortunate young recruit who was riding on the ox cart and now looked completely stunned, "double quick!"

Neriya placed a restraining hand on Alistair's wrist. Overcoming his initial surprise, the young man very quickly snapped too and produced the required gear. "Sorry" Alistair mumbled, and then to Neriya, "Just breastplate, backplate, helmet, vambraces, sabatons…"

"Don't forget the tassets, Alistair," said Lawler dryly, "should something happen to your balls half the women in Ferelden will be in mourning…"

Alistair swivelled his eyes towards him and then let loose a quick bark of a laugh, "indeed."

"Are you sure, Alistair?" asked Neriya.

"Yes, I'm sure."

While Alistair pulled on the gauntlets and helm the other two busied themselves with fitting and fastening the remaining bits, like drones fussing around a queen bee.

"Double check, quick now"

Neriya and Lawler re-tested the fastenings.

"Right. Go. Neriya, my love…" Alistair's voice was a touch mocking, "You do recall how to do this, don't you?"

Neriya glared at him and tugged her staff from the strap on her back, "of course I do, better than you, arsehole. You've only been _training_ for the last year, I've been in the field."

Someone with sharp eyes screamed, "they're coming!"

Alistair yelled, "Back! Everyone back, let the hero do her thing!" gesturing with Starfang, aside to Neriya he said, "ready when you are, sweetheart…"

Lawler looked on fascinated as Neriya began to entwine her hands in the air.

Alistair turned to him and said in a really loud voice, "apart from the fact that she is beautiful as a crisp winter's morn, as keen as Starfang and granted me the privilege of taking her maidenhead…"

Lawler reddened slightly, "Alistair" he hissed, "Perhaps you should keep your voice down?"

"Look" Alistair whispered and ran his hands in front of Neriya's face, "She isn't here at the moment, I wouldn't want what I was saying to go to her head…" and then continued unperturbed "… and that in bed she can do things that would cause any man praise the Maker and all his creation, apart from that, Lawler…"

But Lawler could not take his eyes off Neriya, it was as if the air through her presence had suddenly become something more solid, something malleable to the intellect and will and Neriya was weaving it and bending it to _her_ will. Suddenly there was a slight… tug. It was as if the atmosphere around them had come alive, making all the hairs on his body stand on end, but in an agreeable way…

"Feel that, Lawler? It always feels like that when you are standing near her…" whispered Alistair in awe. Then in the loud voice once again, "What I was saying, Lawler, apart from that… Oh wait, it's coming Lawler, it's coming… Apart from that, Lawler, THERE IS THIS…."

Suddenly there was a blunt noise "WHUMMMMMMMMMP", like a sort of prolonged thump and Lawler felt a cone of pure invisible power move away from Neriya towards the oncoming horde, ruffling his hair and nearly knocking him off his feet. Instantly, he made to run in its wake but Alistair stuck out a muscled arm and grabbed him pulling him back.

"Still, Lawler. You really, really don't want to get caught up in that…"

Just as suddenly, Neriya returned to Thedas, "Ooopps!" said Alistair as he released Lawler and turned just in time to catch her as she wobbled on her feet. "Lesson one of working with a destructo mage, Lawler…" He said propping up Neriya who was still looking somewhat stunned, "is get out of the way… I guess lesson two is never piss them off…"

Draped in a surging vortex of snow and ice a large part of the horde had suddenly become invisible.

"You guys," yelled Alistair to the troops, "Don't go anywhere near that if you don't want your noses to drop off, take the stragglers! Forward!"

Only a small group of some four darkspawn had been totally unscathed by the spell and Alistair rushed towards them with Lawler in his wake, leaving the platoon to tackle those who, thought not directly affected, had still sustained some damage.

Alistair went barrelling for the Hurlock first although he had to charge and dodge two of the others to reach him. Lawler followed slashing to the left and the right. Alistair gained his target striking him a forceful blow to the head with the edge of his shield. The Hurlock stumbled to the left and Alistair brought Starfang down in a sweeping arc from the right decapitating him in a single blow, showering both him and Lawler with blood. Alistair look stunned for a moment and muttered something about luck. A genlock went for him but only managed to strike Alistair lightly on the side before Lawler was upon him. Alistair turned hit the genlock with the shield and went for the survivor while Lawler finished the genlock off. The survivor did not remain such for long.

By this time the area affected by the main spell had cleared and there were about fifteen groggy darkspawn still on their feet. Looking back quickly Lawler saw that Neriya had moved forward and was busy casting ice missile spells. He assumed she was doing this while her mana recovered.

"Protect her," said Alistair, "I'll take the rest of the guys and finish off," Lawler hesitated. "Lawler!" said Alistair, "Protecting the mage is the most important job on the field. Get to it. NOW!"

Lawler took off to where Neriya stood. She seemed to be rather happily casting, a small smile playing on her lips. Without looking at him she said, "He gave you his job… He really does trust you."

Lawler did not have time to reply, three darkspawn were heading in their direction, he intercepted them, slashing and slicing, moving from side to side. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Neriya draw a small flask from her belt, remove the cork with her teeth and down the contents in one go. He concentrated on the most severely injured of the darkspawn, terminated him and twisted about to tackle the other two only to discover they had been turned to ice.

Neriya smiled "Slash, slash…" she said moving her hands making the appropriate motions. Lawler did so only to discover that one shattered showing him with shards of ice.

"Frankly, I prefer it to blood…" remarked Neriya.

The other came to but was so incapacitated that delivering the coup de grace was like smearing butter on warm bread.

"Go Lawler" said Neriya quietly. "Now let's help that arrogant oaf shall we?"

Although when he first set eyes on her Lawler immediately understood Alistair's attraction it was only now that he began to understand his beguilement.

"Follow me, then, Neriya," he said and set off once again.

* * *

"Four serious injuries, none seem endangered, three light, including yourself," said Lawler.

"Good odds," said Alistair and then, "Ouch!" because Neriya had just prodded him in the side. "I need medical attention," he said looking at her.

"Wait your turn for the field medic" Neriya said.

"Some of these guys fought in Denerim," said Lawler, "as did I, so we do know how to tackle darkspawn, if not handle mages" he said eyeing Neriya who stuck her tongue out at him.

"That's a point."

Turning to Alistair Neriya sighed "Let's see," she said tugging up his chemise, "It's just a scratch."

"Oh good, then my personal physician can see to it…"

Neriya rolled her eyes at Lawler.

"Lawler, late supper tonight, everyone round the table, Neriya and I somewhere in the middle, lots of booze good food. We need to celebrate our victory here…"

"Neriya, take me to our tent…"

"You'll be asking me to carry you next." Alistair put one of his arms around her shoulder and them made as if to lean on her.

"Lawler, we'll be busy for the next few hours."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Dragon 9:33 Justinian

Lake Calenhad, tower of mages

They had set out early so dawn was just breaking over the still waters of Lake Calenhad casting rosy reflections over its surface, the brightness on the horizon seeming to promise a beautiful spring day.

Alistair was leaning against the edge of the little rowing boat happy to catch up on the local gossip with Carroll who had been sent over to escort them to the Tower of Mages, "So how are things around here?"

"Quietish really, there was a storm a few weeks back and we were cut off from the mainland for a few days... Caught me on shore."

"Sounds good, a chance for an unexpected holiday..."

"Well, yes..."

"Are _you_ well?" he asked, eyeing Carroll carefully and not bothering to hide it.

Without quite knowing why, Carroll, pulled himself up a little straighter, "yes quite well. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know..." said Alistair turning and trailing a hand in the water. And then, "Many darkspawn around here now?"

"Not really, not these last few years..."

"We encountered a group about seven days ago..."

"So I heard. They didn't last long, did they?"

"No, they didn't," replied Alistair glancing at Carroll again briefly and then letting his eyes drift to the rather severe tower up ahead and then the hunched figure in the prow of the boat, "sorry, duty calls and all that..."

Carroll shrugged slight relieved, perhaps, "no worries."

"You all right, Neriya?" Alistair said putting his arm around her shoulder and sitting next to her, "why so gloomy? Isn't this a little bit like going home for you?"

"Not really," she said, "I think part of the problem is that I'm beginning to realise this never was home..."

He hugged her even closer and kissed her.

"Tell me, is it true that sometimes you wake up and you imagine you're back there?" He said gesturing towards the tower.

"Yes, yes it is, lots of times, who... Oh I get it... Wynne."

"But how come you never told me this..."

"It just didn't seem important at the time. There were other things. There were always other things."

"That's one of the things that most bothers me, you know?" he said, "that we never seem to have given ourselves the time to be like normal couples, concerned with everyday matters... seven weeks we've had, seven weeks, and you're off again."

"Huh," she replied propping her chin on her hand, "Well perhaps it is for the best, we may not have liked each other so much in 'normal' life..."

"Do you really believe that, Neriya? Really?"

She sighed. "No, Alistair, I don't... I agree, it's a shame..." there was a friendly silence between them for a few beats.

"So bitch hunt continues..."

"That's right. And you are..."

"Jerking a few chains, Greagoir... Irving..." he said settling himself comfortably against the side of the boat.

"You look as though you're enjoying the thought..."

"You know me, once I get the bit between my teeth..."

Neriya laughed, "I almost feel sorry for them..."

"Oh, I do too... believe me. Nothing worse than a bored Theirin. Here to make mischief." he paused. "So who asks Irving about Flemeth's grimoire? I don't mind... I can use it to unnerve him a little more..."

"Bad Alistair, watch out Thedas..."

"Bet you fifty silver he'll say, 'Are you sure you found it in my room? I must have been doing some research...'"

"I'm not betting, I think that's exactly what he'll say."

"I wish you'd stay as my councillor, together we'd shake this place and others like it right to their foundations..." He said ruefully realising just how true it was as the words left his mouth.

"Lawler's good..." she said attempting to remind him of what he has.

"I know. I never told you how I recruited him, did I? After some nutcase tried to assault Anora and me in a chantry of all places on our official trip to Ostagar last year, I decided we needed someone to watch our backs, not a uniform, someone who could blend in. As usual Anora wouldn't play along 'It will isolate me from my people,' yeah, right, like she's ever gone to a pub for a drink with 'her people'..." Alistair snorted, "I was also getting fed up with sparring with stuffed dummies and those useless household guards, I was beginning not to be able to tell the difference between them, so I decided to recruit someone as a bodyguard and a sparring partner. I had a word with Kaylon, as he's on the gates he often gets approached. He asked me what I wanted and I said: 'keen, fast cunning and _hungry_, someone Anora would never allow _you_ to recruit into the guards.' A few days later he says 'I think I may have found what you want I've told him to swing by tomorrow,' and, voila! There was Lawler."

"Look..." said Neriya pointing at a colourful little group of figures clustered on the quay at the foot of the tower.

"Oh great!" groaned Alistair, "always the reception party..."

* * *

When they arrived at the jetty Alistair clambered up first then bent down to pull up Neriya. Irving and Greagoir were standing shoulder to shoulder like they usually did, there were the customary nods and a few 'Your Majestys'. Alistair smiled and shook Chief Enchanter Irving's hand first and then turned to Greagoir shaking his but not letting go so quickly "Can we talk Knight Commander?" he asked mildly and Greagoir gestured behind him.

Alistair overheard Irving saying to Neriya, "You look very well Neriya, very, very well" and then "Ms Surana, this is Magnus, he will show you around today," holding his hand out towards a youngish mage with a blond beard and blue eyes. Neriya openly turned towards Alistair and shook her head. Alistair, already half way to the Knight Commander's room grinned back at her. She then turned to the young mage and asked rather rudely, "is your name really Magnus?"

Greagoir held open the door to his room or rather his cell it was so sparsely furnished and Alistair entered.

There was a small chair in front of Greagoir's desk and Alistair took it before being asked.

"To what do we owe the honour, Your Ma..."

"In here I'm not going to address you as Knight Commander, no disrespect intended, so you might as well call me Alistair and I'll call you Greagoir. Less syllables involved"

"Alistair..." said Greagoir as if trying out the name for the first time.

"Greagoir. Crack down on lyrium trafficking. Not in here of course, this is your domain, I respect that, but around the Tower, between here and Orzammar, mine."

"I see..." said Greagoir looking at the wall behind Alistair's head.

"If there is anything you can do to assist, Greagoir, I'll be extremely grateful."

"I shall think on it." He replied distractedly.

"Good, get back to me by no later than tomorrow." Alistair made to rise and then stopped, "oh yes, one other thing, I'd like personal access to the Tower, with your permission, of course..."

"Alistair," said Greagoir slowly, "you are the King of Ferelden, it is too much of a risk..."

"Run that by me again, Greagoir,"

Greagoir sighed, "a risk, it is a risk... So many mages gathered here, you might fall prey to a demon..."

"Greagoir, I've been trained as a templar... Hate to remind you of this but in the course of quelling the Blight I've encountered more fade demons than you've had hot dinners... Making allowance for the fact that you eat frugally, of course."

"It's just that..."

"Look, if you think my training needs updating... Update me, I'm more than happy..."

"The Chantry..."

Alistair leaned forward and said quietly, "...need never know, Greagoir, give me a suit and I'm just one more Templar. I won't do it often, and I will always advise you beforehand, it's not my intention here to catch you with your pants down... You have my word."

"Irving..."

"I'm speaking to him next, Greagoir."

The Knight Commander bowed his head. "As you say."

"Before I go, are there any problems I should know about, Greagoir, anything I can help _you_ with?"

The Knight Commander sat back.

"Once in a while some of our search parties disappear..."

"What do you mean by 'disappear'?"

"They go off. They don't come back."

"Five men."

"Yes, that's the standard size."

"How often does this happen?"

"Two to four times a year..."

"Do you send a search party after the search party?"

"Sometimes, if we have the manpower..."

"And what is the result?"

"Now and again we find remains, very rarely, survivors, but more often than not, nothing."

"What do you think is happening?"

"Desertions, most of the time. If not all some members of the party are deserting and getting rid of the others... Occasionally, perhaps something more sinister..."

"What do you mean?"

"The mages they are pursuing overcome them, or something else... something in the wilds..."

"So..."

"We've had a good period, for just over a year, since the end of the Blight, no-one has gone missing, well not an entire party, anyway, there will always be individual desertions. But now, I mean in the last few months, it seems to have started up again and we've lost two parties... Alistair, I don't know what your game is here, but I like you. I've always liked you, you should be warned."

"Thank you, Greagoir. Can you or someone show me around the tower later? I hope it's looking a bit better than since I was last here."

"Of course."

* * *

After his meeting with Irving, Greagoir took Alistair down to the armory and helped him suit up. It took quite a while covering all floors but Alistair realised he had retained a good enough idea of where everything was. No major changes seemed to have been made. He reflected that if there was one thing Templars and mages had in common it was their love of keeping things unchanged. On the second floor in middle of the library Greagoir stopped:

"There's your girl."

Neriya was sitting at a table piled high with books and manuscripts meticulously making notes. Magnus was sitting on a chair next to her looking bored. As they watched, Neriya looked up at Magnus and said something to him. He immediately jumped up and went to fetch a volume from the shelves.

"Well, she seems to have him well-trained at least."

Alistair nodded, "Unsurprising that." And they moved on without their presence being noted.

From somewhere before they reached the top they managed to grab a couple of apples so they stood on the roof for a while looking at the view crunching them. It had turned into a beautiful day the sun was high in the clear sky and the lake was a placid green/grey beneath them.

"I'd forgotten how hot it was inside one of those," remarked Alistair.

"I'll have one made for you." said Greagoir.

"Thanks. I'd like that."

"How's it going with Neriya?" asked Greagoir.

"It's complicated..."

Greagoir sighed, "it always is with mages..." he sounded as if he knew what he was talking about.

Alistair didn't comment but tossed his core over the side of the tower. "So desertions are a problem?"

"Always have been."

"Don't you think sometimes things could be done differently?"

"Like how?"

"Like if you join the Templars it's not for life but for a fixed period?"

"It takes at least three years to complete the basic training, as you know..."

"So six years then, start at seventeen, stay until you're 23 then decide if you want to remain or take a break, have a family, perhaps come back again later and rejoin... Wouldn't that address a lot of the problems, the desertions, the lyrium addictions, some of the bullying and the occasionally brutality?"

"It may."

"I lost count of all the Templars I saw when I was here last time who'd become easy prey for fade demons precisely because they were so unhappy, _I_ could have been one of them, you know..."

"But the Chantry..."

"Fuck the Chantry..."

Greagoir squared his shoulders, "The Templars are creatures of the Chantry, Alistair, don't be so infantile... The Chantry would say that we have the privilege of service, that we are working towards our salvation and that of all Thedas..."

"Do you believe that Greagoir?"

"Some days I do. Some days I have no choice but to." He added, "The Chantry would also say that our role is a reflection of that of the reverend mothers, they are the heart, we are the protecting arm..."

"There again, why do reverend mothers... Well you get my point."

"I see where you're coming from..."

"I am not an apostate, Greagoir..."

"I know that."

Just before they made a move to go back down, Greagoir asked, "What did it feel like to slay the archdemon, Alistair?"

Alistair who was about to put his helmet back on, turned towards him and replied, "It felt like shit, Greagoir. Just like shit."

Greagoir didn't comment.

* * *

"You know, Neriya," he said later that evening when they were alone in the rather poky bedroom of The Spoilt Princess. "Irving was right you're looking really well. You look great. So much better than seven weeks ago when you turned up in Denerim like a starving kitten... But, you're... Not happy at the moment, are you?" She had, in fact been even grimmer on the way back than in the morning and had made it clear she did not want to speak until they were alone.

"Alistair, I have a request..."

"Go on."

"A request for you as King not as... Well..." her eyes went to the bed.

"King requests can be tricky..." He said suddenly serious. "I can't grant you one just because _you're_ doing the asking, there is a balance..."

"I know, I know," she said.

"So what gives?"

"Do away with, or at least strive your best to do away with the practice of making mages tranquil."

Alistair sat on the bed, "Tall order."

"But you will try?"

"Yes, I give you my word, but it's difficult... Can I ask, the reason behind this request?"

"Apart from what happened to me?"

"Is there an apart?"

"Yes." She sat next to him, "I guess you have a right to know. Duncan had a lover... When he first came to Ferelden in 9:06, he and his party of mainly Grey Wardens stopped off at the Tower just like we did today, on their way to Orzammar. He'd been in the wardens little more than a year then, he was the junior..."

"Neriya, why are you researching this, what..."

Neriya looked at her feet. "I can't tell you yet..."

He sighed, "More mystery... Go on."

"Anyway, it would appear that he got away from the main party and had a tryst..."

Alistair suddenly grinned, "Sounds just like him, good old Duncan..." he looked at Neriya and became serious. "Carry on."

"... with a mage about his age called Viviane. Anyway, as you probably know he was quite busy criss-crossing Ferelden for most of his life but every now and then, he'd stop off at the Tower and visit her..."

"I'd really like to meet her, is she still alive? Is..."

"Alistair..." Neriya put her hand on his arm.

"Oh bugger."

"I met her briefly today. They made her tranquil shortly after Duncan's first visit... But the worst of it is... I think it was 'political'... Viviane was nothing special, certainly not a blood mage or anything like that, just a lively girl, I guess. In early 9:07 there was a falling out between the Wardens and King Maric on one side and the then Chief Enchanter, an Orlesian called Ramille, or something... The mages were attempting some sort of coup, I'm not entirely clear on the details here, and failed, but Ramille, obviously in accord with the then Knight Commander, had her... How could it be described? Neutralised? Out of spite, out of expediency... Anyway, Maric, or was it Loghain? Eventually had Ramille executed."

Alistair was silent for a long while after that. Then he said "Probably the best thing my old man did... What a sordid little story... Poor Duncan."

"Just so we're clear: Irving, Greagoir, they had nothing to do with all this... If I understand things rightly, back then, most of the positions of power in Ferelden were in the hands of a bunch of Orlesians... But, the practice of making tranquils continues..."

Alistair lay back on the bed and put a hand on his forehead, "This was not something I'd thought about in depth before. Thank you, thank you for bringing it to me. As I said, I will do what I can." and then, "I always thought that people in Jowan's position, at the least, mind, at the _very_ least, should be given a choice: Make it quick... or tranquil. I know what I'd choose."

"What about your day?" she asked to distract him a little.

"My day... Neriya, tell me something," he hesitated, "When you were in the wilds, were there Templars there? I mean former Templars?"

Neriya looked down at her hands, "Tell me," Alistair said, "I'm not going to go down there and round them up, it's just something that cropped up in my conversation with Greagoir. Maker knows I understand why they ran..."

"Quite a few, actually, I must have met at least six or seven, mostly they were just trying to make a life for themselves. Mostly..."

"That's all I need to know. Thanks. As for the rest, Iriving said exactly what we anticipated he'd say. So I asked him for a copy of his research, he said he wasn't sure what he'd done with it but we agreed he'd look for it and hand it over to me tomorrow, bet he's working late tonight... Greagoir wasn't about to let me wander around the Tower but I pointed out that I'd had the training. What I didn't point out was the last time I used it was when that bitch was... Well, just to keep HERout of my head..."

Neriya, smiled. "Alistair, at last, a breakthrough..."

"What breakthrough?" he asked bad-humouredly.

"You never discussed it at all... Redcliffe. I never dared ask you. Now you've at least brought it up and told me something."

"I have a 'breakthrough' and in two days' time you're leaving me. Well, isn't life just great sometimes..."

* * *

They had decided to spend the last day alone together. They went for a walk, had a picnic, considered, briefly, Irving's "research" that told them nothing new, but for the most part they talked.

"... and then there was all that lousy lovemaking, about a year ago, no wonder you ran, I can do better, you know..." Alistair said.

"I remember the day of your wedding..."

"Please don't, I was so pissed but I remember it too, I wish I didn't... that was almost..."

"You were very emotional..."

"I know, I..."

"And then you grabbed me..."

"Sorry..." he mutters beginning to regret ever raising this subject at such a delicate moment for them.

Neriya smiles at him, "Your eyes looked so very, very sad and possibly because we were up against a wall you felt even larger inside me than you usually do. I lost count of the times I ran through that particular scene in my head when I was away. I felt you really needed me, you needed me..."

"I did. I do..."

* * *

A little later back at their tent, Alistair closes his eyes and runs his tongue languorously around Neriya's mouth drawing her face close to his with one hand on back of her head, while with his other he caresses and strokes her between the legs. One of her hands rests against his back while the other clasps his length.

After a few moments Neirya pulls her lips away from his, her fingers loosen from around him and he feels her body arch slightly as she throws back her head and moans "Ahh". His lips find her neck and he moves his hand from her sex to her breast cupping its firm roundness with his palm and teasing her hardened nipple.

Neriya puts her lips to his again and they kiss anew, his hand returning to its subtle work in her nether warmth as she trembles slightly, her tongue entwining with his. Again, she withdraws after a while and this time her moan is a little deeper and a little longer, for one enticing moment her hands flying to the firm rosy tips of her breasts, her throat moving.

Alistair's fingers pause expectantly, he holds his breath as he watches her carefully, she is so desirable like this.

This time when Neriya returns to him she seems consumed with impatience and her lips grind against his as she strives to put her tongue as deep into his mouth as it can go. He yields there, tilting his face and baring his neck for her, but strokes her between the legs more insistently.

Suddenly Neriya is breaking, throwing her head back, her sex rippling around his fingers as she groans and calls out his name at the same time as she attempts to tear his hand away from her. Alistair clasps her tightly around the waist, pulls her firmly against him and digs his fingers even more deeply into her molten core, burying his face between her tender breasts, telling her again and again that he loves her and that she is beautiful, as she struggles for relief and begs him for mercy.

Then she tries to pull his hair but it's too short and she can't get a grip, so, eventually, making fists out of her small hands, she begins to beat the back and sides of his head which are the only places she can reach. Finally, he starts to laugh feeling her desperate little fists on his skull and he lets her go so she falls back on the bed.

"So you liked that then?" He asks grinning.

"Arse..." she takes a breath, "hole."

It is what she always calls him now at this stage of their lovemaking, especially if it has been particularly good.

That is why Alistair is still smiling as he moves so he is poised just over her and says "My turn now."

* * *

"Tell me Alistair," says Neriya soon afterwards, "What would you have done if I hadn't forgiven your misdemeanours..."

"My what?... Oh those... That would have been plan B."

"Plan B..." she echoes.

"Yes, plan B was a tawse." He sounds very self-satisfied.

"A tawse?"

"You don't know what a tawse is?" he says, genuinely surprised. "It's a strappy thing... Templars use it for self-flagellation... I kept one from earlier, happier times. Not."

"Let me get this right..." she says carefully, "are you saying that you would have beaten yourself until I forgave you?"

"No," Alistair says sounding appalled, "no, that wouldn't have been any fun... I would have given it to you..."

Neriya was silent for a while, "Alistair, sometimes you can be such a sick, promiscuous little Templar."

"You had that pre-prepared," he says accusingly.

Neriya didn't deny it. He propped himself up on his elbow so he was looking down at her. "And you Neriya," he says very slowly, "are an uppity, prissy little mage..."

* * *

They are kissing at the gates to Orzammar and, as usual, Neriya breaks the kiss off first. "I have to go," she says, "I have to go..." and she picks up the bundle he has insisted on packing for her.

"I didn't think you could do this," Alistair says, "I never thought you could be so cruel..."

She looks at him. His face is utterly downcast. "Are those the last words you're going to leave me with? Sad, bitter words?" she says.

"It's what I feel," he replies sullenly.

She places her tattooed hand on his heart, he looks down at it. "I love you," she says.

"You know I love you too..."

"That's better." Neriya replies, "Alistair, one last thing..."

"What?" he says making eye contact.

"You're free..."

He looks at her uncomprehendingly. "Free, Alistair," she says, "Free until I return..." she turns and begins to walk away, "then Maker help them..." she says to herself, "Maker help them all..."

Neriya takes about twenty steps before he reacts.

"I didn't ask for that..." Alistair says loudly, "I didn't ask for it and I don't want it..."

Neriya turns slightly and waves and continues walking away.

"Come back by winter, Neriya!" Alistair shouts, "By winter, you hear me? Winter! Early winter!"

Alistair makes to run after her but Lawler, pulls him back. Alistair tries to get Lawler's hands off him but Lawler puts his arms around him. Alistair puts his face on Lawler's shoulder and starts crying.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Dragon 9:34

Eluvista/Cloudreach & Ferventis/Justinian

South Reach/Denerim & Denerim [Present]

The day after the funerals Alistair held a small meeting in the dining room at Southreach. In attendance were Bregeth, Lawler and Oswyn. He sat Bregeth to his right with Niamh on her lap.

Once they had all settled he took Niamh from Bregeth, smiled at her and rocked her in his arms and began to talk.

"Thank you all for coming," he said quietly. "I just thought that these last few days have been pretty hectic for all of us and it is only fair that I should attempt to make some things clear. This is Niamh Eleniel and she is my daughter by Neriya Surana, a mage of the circle, otherwise known as the hero of Ferelden." There were subdued nods from Lawler and Oswyn.

"For what it is worth, therefore, she is also my personal heir and no other stands before her. Not so long ago I was concerned that I would not be able to produce an heir to ensure the future stability of Ferelden.

Now I actually have a child I find my viewpoint has changed completely, there are two things I wish for her in this life, the first that she be safe and the second that she be happy. I have no particular desire that she inherit the throne and will simply seek to bring her up as best I can.

On a personal note, I should say being King has not made me feel safe and has certainly not made me happy. Most days I get up and my first thought is to wonder why I haven't yet run away… But she is a Theirin and, as I know to my cost, fate sometimes has a way of sniffing us out"

Everybody was silent. "Anyway, this being the case I would like, in order to give my daughter the best chance in life, that we restrict the knowledge of her parentage to those in this room. Bregeth has already sworn by her deity, I was wondering whether I could ask you Lawler and Oswyn to swear in turn…"

Lawler said, "I swear by the Maker and his holy wife Andraste…" and then looked a little lost.

"Can I suggest 'not to disclose this child's parentage and to always use of my best endeavours to protect her'?" asked Alistair.

Lawler nodded and repeated, "Never to disclose this child's parentage and to always use of my best endeavours to protect her."

"Thank you, Lawler."

Oswyn began, "I swear by my honour and my life…" he paused, he had noticed Alistair looked somewhat taken aback "Alistair, I… There are things in life that make one doubt the existence of a deity, especially of a loving or caring deity…"

Alistair collected himself and replied, "Oswyn don't worry, I understand. You should swear by what is most important to you, that is all I have a right to ask here… We are among friends."

"Thank you. I Oswyn, heir to the Bann of Dragon Peak, do swear by my honour and my life that I will never disclose this child's parentage and will always use of my best endeavours to protect her."

Once Oswyn had finished Alistair visibly relaxed, "Now, suggestions as to where we go from here…" he said, "Perhaps we can say that Niamh is Bregeth's child by a human father and that we have agreed with the Keeper to escort her to the alienage in Denerim…" he turned to Bregeth, "Bregeth would you be happy with that? I know it is an imposition…"

"We have to do what we have to do…" said Bregeth holding out her arms and taking Niamh back from Alistair.

"Thank you." said Alistair, "Now, once we arrive in Denerim…".

"I shall go ahead and secure a room for Bregeth and Niamh at one of the inns," said Lawler "a reputable one," he added, "and then in the following days we'll find them somewhere permanent…" Alistair nodded.

"Oswyn can I ask you to stay here in South Reach for a month of so after we are gone and sort the estate out? Appoint a good steward or seneschal see that it starts thriving again. Try to find some of the people that you mentioned who used to work here prior to Habren taking over, they'll be familiar with the property and that will help get things back on track even quicker. I am sure it benefits no-one to have such an important arling as this left to rack and ruin… See if you can pay me a visit in Denerim by Summersday"

"Thank you," said Oswyn, "It will give me something to do… You know, I could ask my father for advice on managing an estate. I'm sure he's been dying for me to do that for years…"

Alistair nodded. "Right, now the final thing… As you are aware, Lawler spoke to Baudouin and got some names as to who is behind the attack, the people that offered Habren financial inducements for it to take place. This is the list…"

Bregeth and Oswyn bent over it. Bregeth scanned it very smoothly and quickly and then smirked and sat back, turning her attention to Niamh. "I do not care who they are" she said, "I would kill them all."

"Thank you for that measured and moderate opinion, Bregeth" said Alistair "I will be sure to bear it in mind."

"My prince," said Bregeth smiling humourlessly, "They would have killed you, me and your child without the faintest hesitation, they deserve no less."

Alistair chose not reply. Oswyn took the parchment from him and perused it carefully, fascinated. There were six names…

Alistair had not been overly surprised to see the name of Bann Coerlic on the list, if ever there was a feud between the Theirins and another family it was with the Banns of Southern.

The old Bann, the current one's father, also called Coerlic, had ambushed and slain Alistair's grandmother, Moira the Rebel Queen, and had, in turn, eventually been killed by Alistair's father, King Maric.

Of course, since Alistair was illegitimate and had been brought up bereft of all connection with his immediate blood family, such events were next to nothing to him personally, just names on the pages of dusty history books.

To Alistair's recollection, his most significant encounter with the current Bann Coerlic had been some three years ago, Dragon 9:31, in Denerim, shortly before the Landsmeet which had elected him King. Neriya had exchanged a few words with the Bann in the Gnawed Noble Tavern where he had been sitting despondently in front of a beer. Unsurprising really, since his lands had been recently devastated by the Blight and he had lost some of his children to the darkspawn hoard.

What Alistair had had more difficulty understanding was his fervent pro-Loghain stance, he distinctly recalled the Bann saying of Ostagar: "Why would Loghain leave half our own army to die when a Blight threatens? I take him at his word: The battle could not be won."

It was more what the Bann did not say with which Alistair took issue. Loghain had left the field of battle at Ostagar and in doing so might well have preserved half the army, but he had also let King Cailan, his half-brother, and Duncan and the other Grey Wardens perish, how could that be justified?

But, even worse, in Alistair's eyes, Loghain had then sought to blame the Grey Wardens themselves for the King's death, putting his own life and that of Neriya at risk. A man might make a mistake or commit an act of which he was ashamed, but to after that seek to shift the responsibility for that mistake or act onto others who were wholly innocent of it, in Alistair's view, that was truly ignoble and despicable. Further, Alistair would never forgive nor forget anyone who threatened Neriya's existence. For both things, more than for abandoning the field at Ostagar, Loghain's life was forfeit. For all those things, Loghain had paid at Alistair's hands and he did not, for a moment, regret being his executioner.

As for the Bann, as far as Alistair was concerned, he was perfectly entitled to his opinions and to be a fool and a dupe if he so wished. He had probably met the man several times since, at functions in the palace and such but he had never, to his recollection, had so much as a conversation about the weather with him. Of course, now that Bann Coerlic's name was on this list, their relationship, was on a whole new footing.

The only other name Alistair had recognised on the list was the Bann of Walford sited just north of South Reach, in the southernmost part of the Bannorn. He could not for the life of him recall the person who held it. The remaining five names were unfamiliar.

Alistair asked Oswyn "Do you recognise any of those names apart from Bann Coerlic? Why should they conspire against me? Do you know who the Bann of Walford is? I really can't remember…"

"That would be Bann Domhnall… You know, the plump one…"

"Not a clue…" said Alistair shaking his head, "Anyway, what of the others?"

"I really don't know…" replied Oswyn

"Oswyn, could I ask that you speak to Habren and run these names by her before we leave? Also if she could tell us who they are and where they live, that might be helpful, too. Since she knows you, she might be more forthcoming with you than she would with Lawler…"

Oswyn said, "Yes, I think I can do that…"

* * *

Just over two weeks later, shortly after arriving in Denerim and still in his travelling clothes, with Bregeth and Niamh newly installed at an inn and Habren in a cell in Fort Drakon, he was unpacking his things in his room when he felt someone standing by the door. He looked over and saw that it was Anora.

"Dearest…" he said straightening with the slightest touch of irony.

"Alistair…" replied Anora, always as if to a naughty child. "Are you well?"

"Well enough," he replied, "I am here, am I not? Only strained my arm…"

"I heard…"

He went over to her, for a brief moment she thought he was going to embrace her but he just placed his hands on her shoulders and held her at arms' length studying her face very intently. Anora withstood his scrutiny with icy indifference.

"I cannot…" Alistair muttered almost to himself, "If I could read you, what would I see now?" he asked in a louder voice.

"How do I know?" she answered, "don't we all see things differently?"

He let her go with a small sound of disappointment.

"I will not waste my breath on pointless denials…" said Anora, as he turned away and went back to unpacking his books.

"As you say." He replied, his back to her.

That night he wrote to Eamon and Teagan to tell them he needed to speak to them when they came to Denerim in a few weeks time.

* * *

After he left Fort Drakon he felt drained. It had been a long day, a long night, a long two months since he returned from South Reach but having finally made a decision on Habren, and one that he was happy with, he felt he had brought at least part of it to an end.

_Still a lot to do, though_, he thought, as he left the shadow of the fortress behind him. In his life there always seemed to be a lot to do. His original idea had been to return to the palace but once he got there, his feet continued walking, despite the foul weather, roughly following the course of the River Drakon southeast, towards the alienage.

He stopped once or twice on the way, if the night was cold it had also turned clear. He had a particular favourite place on the way to the alienage it was a square one side of which opened out on the road that followed the river. The buildings around it mostly belonged to rich merchants, he imagined, and were three stories high and prosperous and solid looking without being extravagant. They were also all quite different without being mismatched or haphazard. The lower part of them formed an arcade around the three sides of the square and in the middle there was a standpipe with stone basins, that during the hot days of summer, inevitably, would attract hoards of noisy children… He thought he could hear them now, even though it was night and dark.

Shortly before he came into view of the large gated entrance to the alienage a hand fell upon his shoulder from behind. He turned quickly and drew, "I have a sword," he said dryly.

"I know," said a light female voice, "and a large one too…"

Alistair sighed lowering the blade, "Not tonight… I am not in the mood…"

"Woe is Ferelden when its Lord tires of love…" said the stranger in an easy, mocking tone.

Alistair could only see the lower part of her face. There was a pert smile under the hood of her cape, her lips were perfectly lined and perfectly rouged in deep crimson, an Orlesian courtesan could not better the precision of that mouth, he thought. Her voice seemed familiar but he could not place it.

"Very poetic." He remarked, and added "Leave me, woman, but take some silver for your trouble and rest what remains of the night, the Maker go with you…" he dropped some coin into her small outstretched hand.

"Thank you, sweet Prince, may you, too, dream well…" she brushed past him and melted into the shadows.

"I shall try." He said sheathing. "I shall try."

In due course, he came to the door he was seeking and knocked, there was a muffled salutation and it opened the little, dark elven servant girl standing barefoot in the doorway. "Ser, the lady sleeps…" Alistair wondered idly what 'the lady' would say if she knew she were called such behind her back.

"I know" he said walking past her, "I know it is late…"

But no sooner had he gained the bottom of the staircase than a light shone from above. "Who goes…"

He pulled his hood down, "It is I…"

"I thought the girl hung at dawn…" whispered Bregeth from above, her words echoing faintly down the stairwell.

Alistair did not reply but walked up the two flights suddenly feeling a week's tiredness dragging him down. Bregeth stood at the head of the stairs wearing a nightshift, a lamp in one hand, his child in the other, curled up against her breast, asleep. As soon as he approached Bregeth held her out to him and he took her, cradling her small warm body in his arms.

"You look exhausted…" said Bregeth.

"I am." He replied looking down at Niamh.

"I shall take the divan, you can have the bed…" she said.

"I did not come here to turf you out of your own bed…"

"Nevertheless."

Alistair walked towards the bedroom holding the still sleeping Niamh. He gazed longingly at the sturdy double bed with the crisp white sheets and in hushed tones said to Bregeth, "Let's be civilized about this…" then he hesitated, "you know I, well I…"

"You are struggling to find polite words to tell me that you do not find me sexually desirable." She summed up.

"That's… Yes."

"I shall make it simple for you, Alistair. Although I respect you, as I have said before, I am not interested in males and even less in male shems." She took the still sleeping Niamh from him and set her down in a cradle and climbed into the far side of the bed next to it.

Alistair began removing his clothes and dropped them on a pile on the floor. "Tonight…" he said.

"Rest. We shall talk on the morrow." She replied.

When he got down to his smallclothes he crawled into the bed on the opposite side to Bregeth and, feeling strangely at ease, quickly fell fast asleep.

He was dreaming of a clear sky and a pool of calm green water not unlike Lake Calenhad when suddenly the peaceful landscape was rent by a scream. He opened his eyes, Bregeth stood by the cradle, "she is hungry, go back to sleep, I shall see to her…" he turned over and did.

This time it was more of a slow, miserable wail, he woke immediately. Bregeth was fretting on her side of the bed. "She must need changing…"

"I guess it is my turn…" Alistair said. Bregeth sighed, lit a lamp and he got up feeling wearier than Thedas and walked towards the cradle.

"Put her in the bed between us, she'll probably sleep better like that." said Bregeth once he had finished.

"Will she be alright?"

"Oh yes."

He put Niamh on the mattress between them facing towards him, he reached out to touch his daughter and she gripped one of his fingers and cooed sweetly, he chuckled. "I was thinking what I would tell Niamh when…" he said to Bregeth, but before he could finish the sentence, he was dead to the world once more.

* * *

The following morning he was just pulling on his boots in the parlour when Bregeth wandered in, still in her shift, carrying Niamh.

"You're going." She said sitting down at the table, looking at the empty porridge bowl in front of him.

"I was, yes," said Alistair.

"What happened last night?" Bregeth asked.

He finished pulling on his boot, sighed, sat up straight and faced her. "I turned Habren over to the Grey Wardens, on condition they take her out of Ferelden and that she never come back…"

Bregeth was silent, looked down at Niamh and rearranged her wrappings nodding.

"If she does not die in the joining…" Alistair continued, "she will be made such as I am…"

Bregeth looked over at him and then, after a few beats, he realised her gaze had become fixed. He leaned over the table towards her, waved his hand in front of her eyes, "Bregeth, Bregeth!" grabbed her arms and was about to shake her when she came to.

"I am sorry, Alistair," she mumbled.

He sat back, looking worried, "Are you alright?"

"Just a little tired," she said running her free hand over her forehead, then she added, "Yes, if she is made such as you are… That will be punishment enough…"

It was not until he had reached the street that meandered by the river and got his first eyeful of the day of the Drakon in all its dirty, tawdry glory, that the full meaning of her words hit him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Dragon 9:34

Ferventis/Justinian

Denerim [Present]

It was just past noon on Summerday and the children who had been received for the first time by the Chantry were excited. Throughout Andrastrian Thedas on this day, the first day of summer, the children of devout families who were just about to enter puberty were taken to their local Chantry to receive instruction from the reverend mothers (or fathers in Trevinter) on the responsibilities of adulthood.

In Denerim it was also traditional to hold a morning reception at the palace for the children following their induction. All clad in white, like benign spirits of the Fade, they were actually far noisier and more boisterous. The reverend mothers walked among their young flock in their orange and crimson gowns, some of them towers of unflappable serenity, others looking more than a little frazzled and beleaguered. Fortunately, this year they had not run out of summer apples to distribute so Alistair had began going round the hall offering some of the surplus to the Reverend Mothers and having the odd word with them.

He made a particular point of approaching mother Gertrude who, he had heard, had recently been very ill. She had ducked her head slightly when he had proffered her a particularly juicy looking apple, which she had accepted almost meekly. He noticed she was much thinner and she winced slightly when she put out her hand to take it.

"I need to talk to you soon, if that's all right…" he said to her,

"Is it going to be one of _those_ conversations? You know like the we had two years ago…" she asked taking a bite.

He laughed, "Why, do I look miserable?"

"No, actually," she said, taking a second bite out of the apple and squinting up at him, "you look… Content. And I've seen you in the chapel _every now and then_, since we spoke even if you stand in the back row and sneak in a book…" Alistair reddened slightly. "Oh what, you thought I hadn't noticed? I am just old, not entirely blind or stupid. You even bring a quill sometimes and write, don't you? And you're not making notes of my sermons, it's probably a naughty letter to one of your lady friends…"

Alistair thought it pointless to quibble about what he was writing but he had never been in the habit of writing love letters, he much preferred a more direct approach. "Well I didn't think it was quiet fair to leave you say all the prayers for me, but then… Why do I get the feeling I've just been slapped?"

"Because I would have slapped you if I could reach and if it really wouldn't hurt me now far more than it ever would you… Just watch out that the Maker isn't busy writing letters to _his_ lady friends when you appear before him, Your Majesty… Catch!"

She tossed her core in the air and, by pure reflex, he caught it.

"Ha!" said Gertrude, "my blessed country is still in good hands or at least in quick ones… Speaking of which, make it next week. Tuesday after the early chant which I expect you to attend with nothing but devotion." She wagged a finger at him.

"But that's blackmail… and the first chant starts at dawn…" Gertrude shrugged and turned to leave.

"'course it is," she said behind her, "the Chantry's best weapon… especially with the likes of you, renegade, and don't you forget it… See you then."

Following that exchange, Alistair departed the hall floor for one of the overlooking balconies. Anora was still distributing apples, some lucky children were getting second or even third ones if they were particularly persuasive. He saw one small dark haired boy pull at Anora's skirt until she turned round and smiling down at him gave him an apple. He then ran away and approaching a little blond haired girl at the edge of the hall, whispered in her ear and handed her the apple which she grasped with both hands, giving him a kiss on the cheek. _Very enterprising_ Alistair thought.

* * *

Two days earlier he had met up with Oswyn who had just returned from South Reach. They had immediately gone out for a drink at Alistair's suggestion.

"I can't stand it at the palace sometimes…" Alistair had explained, "It's simply too quiet and there's no-one 'real' around, just servants." Then he added, "Not that I'm saying that servants aren't real it's just that they don't behave in a real kind of way… Of course, you nobles, you're all used to that, though, and you can cope with it. Me, sometimes it's bloody frustrating…"

Oswyn was beginning to get used to Alistair's little sallies and he actually found them quite amusing so he just limited himself to taking a couple of swallows of the rather excellent ale and beaming across the table at him.

"… and now you're doing it, too…" said Alistair accusingly.

"Doing what?"

"Smiling at me like that, all, yes, yes, yes…"

"I am not." Oswyn said with false indignance.

"You are… Anora has no less than three ladies to assist her to dress, frankly, I'd be embarrassed to have someone to help me pull on my smallclothes in the morning…"

"I bet you're no pretty sight either…"

"Maker, no. I'm all sort of washed up and smelly, bristly as a bear, best left to myself… But talking of looks, what happened to that long hair thing you had going... I give you an estate to manage for two months and you tidy your hair and start growing a beard."

Oswyn was indeed sporting a very neat short blond beard, "I'm glad you noticed."

"Well, it suits you…" Alistair took a breather, "Business: I presume you've heard my decision on Habren…"

"I did. But I am not quite sure what that involved." Alistair gave him a rather quick explanation about the Grey Wardens and the joining.

"I suppose it's preferable to hanging." Remarked Oswyn.

Alistair rolled his shoulders. "I could not find it in me to hang a chit of barely nineteen summers… How is South Reach?"

"I think, like the rest of Ferelden, it's healing but it will take time." Said Oswyn, "The important thing is that there are good people in place. However, there is another matter…" his hand went to his chin and he stroked his new beard.

"Yes?" Alistair asked picking up his tension.

"Two people on that list? They are no longer among the living… Both were merchants and used to travelling up and down the road between Lothering, South Reach and Denerim. Both it seems were attacked by wild animals, a bear perhaps? At first I thought we might have one that had gone rogue and I was about to assemble a hunting party when it struck me that bears do not usually drag people off the road and then drag them back on to it once they have killed them. Moreover, one was travelling with his child and she was found by him, distressed but unharmed. She is just three... I put the hunting party on the back burner until I had spoken to you."

"Andraste's tits…" exclaimed Alistair softly.

"Quite." Concurred Oswyn.

"Elves… I gave Baudouin to Keeper Lanaya…"

"Those were my thoughts."

"Elves… That will teach me…" Alistair sighed and hunched over his ale, "I think we have them wrong. We think of them as quaint because they're ancient, frail because they tend to be smaller than us humans and vulnerable, because they are often chosen as victims… " He looked Oswyn in the eye, "What we are missing is that they're great survivors, they have been through everything, forever, and yet they are_ still here_. I should have known better, being with Neriya and seeing how strong she is, I should have known better."

Oswyn nodded and sipped his beer.

"I shall have words with the Keeper when I next see her. I shall give you some sovereigns for the families, but what else is there to do? We could, perhaps, warn those on the list that live in the area, but, firstly, why should we? And secondly, they may well have already taken heed as they were surely meant to. Do you have any thoughts?"

The other man shrugged. "As your Bregeth said, their intention was to kill us all…"

* * *

They had agreed that Oswyn would attend the Summereve gala at the palace.

There were in fact two parts to the Summerday celebrations, the morning which was set aside for children and the Chantry and the evening, or Summereve, a slightly more Andoralian affair, for the adults in which love and the joy of life were celebrated. The evening party at the palace had also traditionally been used by the Fereldan nobility to broker marriages between the scions of the aristocracy. Everyone seemed to agree that the Summereve celebrations had reached the apogee of licentiousness in the first years of Cailan's reign. However, following Ostagar and the Blight, things had never been quite the same again, and the party had become somewhat more subdued, although it did seem to be slowly picking up, year on year.

It was one of those evenings when Alistair regretted he had not employed a dancing instructor. Dancing: it was so superficial and frivolous that of all the things he felt compelled to study and master, it was surely the least. And yet, and yet, when one was King and one was young, even in Ferelden, one was expected to know some basic dance steps.

He thought perhaps his battlefield technique would always be against him when it came to dancing running forward, while heavily armoured, attack left and right, take down the weaker or more dangerous opponents and take the flak. Whereas dancing was the opposite, it involved stepping to one side, giving way, sharing space gracefully with others, and, above all, avoiding treading on their toes or cramping their style.

At least he was part of the crowd this evening, and so much less visible. The dancers formed two long chains, male alternating with female, that wound round each other so providing each person a partner of the opposite sex every few minutes.

Alistair's latest partner was a rather tall redhead with shiny, slightly curly hair that fell well below her shoulders and bright green/blue eyes who performed the required steps impeccably. Alistair had just made his third or fourth mistake, going to the right instead of to the left when she smiled quietly, batted her eyelids at him, and said in a low voice:

"I can give you pleasure such as you have never felt before…"

Since he had never heard that kind of opening remark away from rough Denerim street corners after dark, he thought he had surely misheard and conducted a quick examination of her clothing. Insofar as he could tell, she was definitely dressed like a noblewoman, "… excuse me." He said as he knelt on one knee.

Taking advantage of a dance step that required her to deliver a mock kiss on the cheek, his partner gave him a real one and whispered enticingly, her breath warm in his ear, "You heard me."

As she wheeled behind him while he held her hand aloft she continued, "All I ask in exchange…" She was standing in front of him again, and apparently, he should be standing too, so he checked out her breasts and found them to be firm and pert and not overlarge, quite to his liking, "… is that you give me a child."

"Right." He said now meeting her eyes grinning at her inanely because he thought she was joking, either that or, very embarrassingly for them both, she had surely confused him with someone else.

She pouted and put her hands on her hips, "I am serious. It is Summereve." She said. "My estate needs an heir…"

"OK," he said, his hands on his hips now, making a hash of the fancy legwork but pretending not to be aware that he had, "and does milady have any particular preference as to the gender of this child?"

"A boy." She mouthed at him as she stepped away towards her next partner, "I would like a boy…"

Shortly afterwards Alistair joined Oswyn on the upper circle and pointed her out, "Who the hell is that woman?"

"Which one?"

"That redhead there…"

"Oh that's 'Pup' Cousland."

"'Pup'?"

"She's Bryce's and Eleanor's youngest. I am surprised Fergus has let her out…"

"What do you mean?"

"She had a bad Blight…"

"I thought everybody had a bad Blight…" said Alistair confused, "Me, you…"

"Well, if I understood it rightly, 'Pup' had an even worse Blight than I; her trauma has outlasted mine… Why?" He said tilting his head to one side.

Alistair repeated what Pup had told him.

"Oh that sounds like the old Pup all over…" said Oswyn, "She never could hold that tongue of hers… In any sense. She must have propositioned every minimally desirable male member of the nobility in her time and bedded most of them, too. But she's looking for an heir now, eh? Gosh, she must be desperate… Starting right at the top, as well, how typical…"

"But is what she said true?"

"You mean if she is a good lay?" Oswyn glanced at him and laughed, "I really don't know, I never succumbed to her, too brazen… She has my type peeing in his pants…"

"What's her real name?"

"Rousaura, or Rous. Rous Cousland. Now surely you didn't bring me here this evening just so I could tell you about women…"

"Of course not," said Alistair, "Although it is, as the lady said, Summereve, so when better? But I actually brought you here so you could pick out Bann Walford for me…"

"I see," said Oswyn turning and carefully scanning the room below, "ah, there he is, right there, I think he's brought his wife along too. He looks worried…"

"You mean just like someone with a guilty conscience who has been ordered by the King to put in an appearance at a party?"

"I mean… Oh, I see. You are mischievous, Alistair…"

"I think we should go down there and invite him up to this room here for a little chat, don't you?"

* * *

"Well, you know me, although I don't really know you, I mean we've never spoken." Alistair began rather awkwardly, "Anyway you might know him, he's Oswyn of Dragon Peak, he was also at the camp in the Brecilian Forest with me about two and a half months ago now…"

"Hello, Domhnall" said Oswyn leaning back putting his hands behind his head and grinning.

"Why have you asked me here?" the plump but rather miserable looking Bann said, ignoring Oswyn and concentrating on Alistair.

Alistair ignored him back. "Does Domhnall look a little nervous to you?" he asked Oswyn.

"I think he does, ya' know." Replied Oswyn.

"I do too," Said Alistair glancing back at the Bann.

"Definitely nervous."

"Definitely."

"Stop mocking me, stop playing with me…" said the Bann.

Alistair exchanged a long look with Oswyn. "OK" said Alistair leaning forward with a stern expression on his face, "since you're asking, Domhnall, we've spoken to Baudouin and Habren and your name came up…"

"I have no idea who you're talking about" stammered the Bann.

"Well, that's a pity…" said Alistair sitting back again and looking at his nails, "… and there was I going to be so nice to you… Now it's going to have to be Fort Drakon until your memory recovers …"

"Or splatter-splat, don't forget splatter-splat, Alistair." Said Oswyn looking pointedly at the window behind the Bann.

"Yes, there's always the window of opportunity…"

"So, what'll it be?" Said Oswyn, leaning forward in turn, and folding his hands in front of him on the table, "Fort Drakon or defenestration?"

"I…"

"Or I could be nice again" cut in Alistair, "one last chance like…"

"It was my wife" said Domhnall, "My wife Myrelle."

"I must admit," said Alistair to Oswyn, "it really takes a certain kind of man to blame the wife…"

"Yes, indeed" replied Oswyn, "one who is not at all afraid of having his ears boxed in…"

"Perhaps you'd like to shift a little more of the blame onto someone else, while you're about it? Your children? Loghain?"

"No, Alistair," said Oswyn, "he's dead…"

"Indeed, yes, I forgot. I chopped his head off about two years ago right out there in the hall, blood everywhere… But you were probably there to see that, weren't you, Domhnall?"

The Bann looked from one to the other and saw two hard faces.

"Tell me what you want…" said the Bann.

"A confession," Said Alistair, "a full confession signed and sealed naming everyone you know who was involved either directly or indirectly in the attack on my encampment and the Elven settlement."

"And what do I get in exchange?"

"Nothing." The Bann looked surprised, "But then neither will you loose anything be it your liberty or your life…"

"How do I know this will be the case?"

"I will give you my word…"

"The word of a bastard…"

Alistair moved so fast, Oswyn jumped. He had the Bann by the front of his shirt.

"Bastard I may be, but I have more honour than some piffling, canting, noble who hides his treasonous plotting behind a nineteen year old girl, or his wife…"

"I…I…"

"You what?" Demanded Alistair glaring at him.

The Bann looked down. "I will do as you say."

"Good." Said Alistair letting him go. The Bann collapsed gently into his chair. "Then do it now, before I change my mind again."

* * *

Some four hours later Alistair and Oswyn emerged from the room, Bann Domhnall had left about half an hour before, bowing and scraping and leaving a three-page confession behind him.

The grand hall was totally quiet but resembled nothing more than a beach after a shipwreck, a particularly messy shipwreck.

"It seems we missed quite a party…" said Alistair surveying it. There were a lot of spills and mud, it had obviously started raining while they had been busy with the Bann, and even some broken crystal glasses. His head throbbed just to think how much each of those cost…

"No loss to me." Replied Oswyn.

"No?" said Alistair.

"There are certain things I am not quite ready for yet… as for you, you are still fairly touchy about the 'B word', aren't you?"

Alistair sighed, "We all have our weaknesses. I feel I spent too much of my life grinning and bearing it while that word was bandied about in my presence. I do not see why it has to be like that anymore especially when it's used by scum like the Bann of Walford. Now there's my daughter… Children are innocent whatever side of the blanket they happen to be conceived on, if it is anybody's fault, it is the parents', why should the child pay?"

He paused. "It has been a long day for both of us, Oswyn, but I thank you for your assistance… It was very to the point, splatter-splat and all that… Can I impose my presence on you just a little more? I would like to see you tomorrow, I think we may have things to discuss, apart from this." He said wielding the confession.

"If you are offering to buy me another few pints of that excellent ale, I'll certainly consider it…" said Oswyn.

"Your Majesty…" a female voice called up to him. Alistair looked over the edge of the hall balcony and saw Rous Cousland standing below. For some reason she was holding her shoes in one of her hands and standing on the soiled hall floor only in her stockings. "Can I come up and speak with you?" she asked.

Oswyn's eyebrows almost met his newly tidied hairline, "Let me handle this," he said smoothly before Alistair could even begin to think of a reply.

"Pup," Oswyn said calling down to her, "How wonderful to see you. We really have to catch up… Hang on a minute." He began to lever himself down the staircase using the banister for support.

Alistair saw Rous look at Oswyn and thought he detected a flash of pity and then, perhaps, recognition, cross her features, then she looked straight up at _him_, and plain disappointment washed over her face.

By that time Oswyn had reached the bottom of the staircase and he called to her again. She went up to him and, after embracing her lightly and exchanging what were obviously formal greetings, he put both his hands on her shoulders and began whispering to her confidentially. Rous glanced up at Alistair again and then turned her attention back to Oswyn to whom she eventually offered her arm and they began to make their way out of the hall, carefully picking their path through the spills and detritus of the party. About halfway across they stopped and, hopping for balance and clinging to Oswyn's for support, Rous slipped her shoes back on. With Rous casting one last fleeting look back at Alistair, they departed.

"Nobles," said Alistair under his breath.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Dragon 9:33

Solis/Solace

Jader/Port Lydes/Orlesian Heartlands [About a year and a half ago]

Jader was a collection of little half-timbered houses mostly painted white with pointed red-tiled roofs and cobbled streets. In the main square facing the Waking Sea there was a simple wooden signpost surrounded by a circle of worn stone steps. Pointing east the sign said "Ferelden" and west "Orlais". Although in the past Jader may have belonged to Ferelden it was currently considered to be part of Orlais.

Neriya sat at the foot of the sign, _so this was where Riordan had been from_, she thought, looking at the sea, which today seemed to be blue/grey but fairly becalmed. It was a week since she had said goodbye to Alistair and she had made less progress than she had hoped. She was feeling tired and drained and had began to wonder whether she was coming down with something. Two days ago it had suddenly struck her that she had not bled for about eleven weeks. Like many female mages Neriya was very irregular, apparently being a Grey Warden also made you irregular, but in eleven weeks she would have expected to have had at least one bleed.

It had occurred to her that… She had dismissed that thought almost immediately, from what she understood, it was well-nigh impossible. But, then, she was the only female Grey Warden in Ferelden, so what did she know? What, in fact, did anybody know? Alistair had only been a Grey Warden six months longer than her and he had never so much as met a female Grey Warden before her. Sheltered as he had been, she was also pretty certain that what he knew about pregnancy wouldn't even fit on the sharp tip of Starfang. Duncan had died long before any discussion resembling this could take place. The thought, therefore, would not go away. Seated at the foot of the signpost she found herself wishing that she had become aware of these symptoms a few weeks earlier, then she could have spoken, for example, to Wynn who doubtless would have put her mind at rest.

The previous evening she had spent some time reviewing her more recent symptoms: fatigue, dizziness, headaches, an enhanced sense of smell, the feeling that she had put on weight even though she was eating less and exercising more than she had in Denerim. She also carried out as thorough as a physical inspection of herself as she could and noted that her breasts seemed tender and a little swollen and her lower abdomen bulged slightly just above her pubic bone.

Behind her she had noticed a little inn called L'Ancre, she thought that might be as good a place to start as any.

* * *

Thankfully the Innkeeper speaks perfect Fereldan and he directs her to a house on one of Jader's backstreets.

"_Sans doute, vous êtes enceinte…_" The midwife speaks no Fereldan but her gestures, following a brief examination, do not leave any room for misunderstanding.

The very, very first thought that crosses Neriya's mind is, _Alistair is going to be a father, there will be a Theirin heir…_ and only with some delay does her own role in this momentous event strike her. A certain expression must have crossed her face because the midwife immediately says:

"_Je peux vous aider…_"

"_Non. Non, merci_."

Neriya shakes her head: _No, no, no, no, no, no… You can't help me, but I don't want to do this either… As if I didn't have enough problems, enough concerns, as it was… As if…_

She pays the midwife the 25 silver and stumbles out of the place in shock.

"_Au revoir, Madam,_" says the woman and Neriya's mind translates, _I will see you again_… _No. I don't think so. No, you won't_. Her head feels as if it is full of stones rolling around one minute, of bees buzzing the next. Suddenly she feels terribly ashamed lonely and sick as if her stomach had lurched to the bottom of her throat.

She almost runs down to the port where for no particular reason she spends the rest of the day sitting on the edge of the quay, looking out at the sea. The Waking Sea is more enclosed and far smaller than the Amaranthine Ocean but somehow it seems wilder and more untamed. She marvels at how different it seems to be at every distinct moment, how it changes in the transient light from blue to grey to green and any combination of those with glints of gold and crimson.

She remains there until early evening when the fishing boats come in and the smell of the fresh catch on the sea breeze makes her nauseous. She then goes to the little inn and books a room for the night.

* * *

Alistair had advised her to stick to the Imperial Highway, it was by far the safest route he had said. Neriya remembered being touched that he had troubled to enquire about the safest paths for her as if he really expected her to follow them. She was sure part of him knew her much better than that, but another part of him could not avoid attempting to do the right thing for her, even though he was aware that ultimately it was in vain.

Neriya followed the coast by the Waking Sea, which in any event ran parallel to the highway, barely six miles inland at any given point. She had wandered like this for just over a week, sleeping rough when she couldn't find a cave or other shelter such as some ruins, thanking whatever powers that were that the climate was mild if somewhat dreary, showing the picture to whatever stray travellers she happened to come across but receiving only head shakes in reply.

It was therefore around the ninth day when she saw what appeared to be a fairly large town in the distance. Checking her map, yes, Alistair had supplied her with a detailed map of Orlais, too, "Make sure you bring it back with you," he had said, "We didn't have time to copy it…" she guessed this must be Port Lydes. Port Lydes was a relatively new town, only a few decades old but apparently it would soon outgrow the original Lydas being the port with the best connection by sea to Val Royeaux on the Heartlands coast.

She hurried towards it, and arrived there before midday. But once she got there despair hit her this was just another town different but overall the same as the many others she had visited before. Her whole life, it suddenly occurred to her, was going to be one pointless lonely trek, always hurrying towards the next city on the horizon. _Why not turn back?_ Part of her said, _at least he loves you_, at least life with him will be comfortable and secure and full of small, everyday, joys _and love, don't forget love_. If she did, however, she would never be free, never really get to know what it would be to be herself, Neriya. Now with a child on the way, she thought she would never know that anyway.

Without being fully aware of what she was doing she did what she had been yearning to do for days, dropped her bundle of belongings, dropped even her staff, and began to pull off her clothes in abrupt tugs. It wasn't really until she wrenched off her boots that she realised that the beach was full of pebbles, too late, anyway. She walked cautiously towards the line where the sea met the shore, feeling the stones abrade the soles of her feet.

The Waking Sea was cold but, she felt, welcoming, an appropriately detached host for a little frost mage. No horizon on the sea, she thought, or at least no disappointing towns, no aspirations, no suffocating love, no babies, just freedom, where sea kissed sky.

* * *

He looked at her with such icy indifference. _How different men were_, she thought, if this had been Alistair she would already be in his arms wrapped in a fur or a blanket, or perhaps halfway to bliss.

"Who are you?" she asked the strange elf with his arms clasped round his bony knees sitting next to her belongings. She was attempting to pretend that she wasn't frozen, wasn't naked and wasn't intimidated by his proximity or by the sword buried tip down next to him. She began routing around in the disorderly pile of her discarded garments, looking for her smallclothes.

"Is that the King of Ferelden's?" He said pointing rudely at her belly. She noticed he had surprisingly dark hair and eyes.

"Yes", she said straightening having found them and because she didn't know what else to say. The tattoos on his face were brown and their pattern resembled the branches of trees or antlers, she could not decide which.

"What were you doing in the sea?" He asked.

She didn't reply but stepped into her underwear.

"Oh, don't worry," he said, arrogantly, "You won't be the first little elf to try to end it when they're expecting a shem child and certainly not the last…" He was wearing plain black rough breeches, a little worn around the knees, she though, and a thick brownish knitted top. His sword looked new, though, or well-cared for.

"I wasn't." She half-lied. "I was just… Confused. Anyway… You haven't answered my question."

"Confused…" he repeated, "Cullivan… My name is Cullivan."

"And who sends you Cullivan? Alistair? Or someone who doesn't like me?" She said holding her robe in front of her prior to pulling it on.

"Don't be stupid, flat ears, if it was someone who didn't like you my sword would hardly be buried in the beach would it?"

She sighed and pulled her robe over her head. "Who then?"

"Someone who doesn't care for me to name them…"

She picked up her cape doing her best to shake the dirt from it_. You should have thought of that before dumping it on the ground_… Then she went over to her bundle, and, eying Cullivan, began meticulously going through it.

"I am not a thief, flat ears…"

"Neriya, my name is Neriya…" she said

"As you say." He replied.

"Do you speak Orlesian?"

"Compared to Dalish, the languages of humans are like babies' gurgles…"

"Then you might be of some use to me, mightn't you? Are you from around here?"

"Some of us still remain on the Dales…"

"Good. Have you seen this woman?" _Well, it was worth a try_, she thought.

"What if I have?"

"Yes or No, Cullivan…" She said tucking the picture of Morrigan back into the bundle, picking it up and then picking up her staff.

"No… Where are you going?" He said getting hastily to his feet and pulling his sword free.

"Are there any good inns in town?"

"Not for the likes of us…"

"Even if I have sovereigns?"

"The King of Ferelden must have been mightily pleased with his little Elven bed-warmer… Either that or she has developed a taste for larceny…"

Neriya stilled for a moment and Cullivan stopped beside her, "This would be from my love…" she said suddenly whirling around at him and hitting him across the face with her staff. She remembered Alistair's advice, "Whenever you decide to hit someone make it as hard as you can and make it count, put all your weight behind it."so she did, "… only he would give it to you a little harder still. But this… This is purely from me." She told Cullivan beginning to chant.

Cullivan fell to the ground, half his face smarting, and then was suddenly hit by a wave of cold so fierce that the tears of pain caused by the initial blow froze for a few agony-filled moments on his cheeks and across his eye sockets.

She stood over him and said, very slowly, in case he failed to understand, "I am not a WHORE and I am not a THIEF. The sooner you learn that the better we will get on, if you still decide to come with me after this."

Neriya was at the bar of the _Bonne Chance_ haggling with the innkeeper for a room in an ungainly mixture of Fereldan and Orlesian when Cullivan came up behind her, ignoring the innkeeper's worried stare, draped his arm around her shoulder as if he had known her all his life and said, "I shall see you down here tomorrow _lethallan_."

* * *

"A bad beginning…" Neriya said the next day.

"Yes," Cullivan concurred nursing his cheek, "but at least I don't think it's broken."

She moved his hand away from it and run her finger over the purpling bruise, "No, I don't think it is… Although I am no healer, I could pay for one if you wished…"

"Spare your coin, Neriya," he replied, "the state you are in, you are going to need every copper…"

"Alistair did not send you."

"Alistair did not send me," he agreed, and added just so they were clear, "and I will not tell you who did. I was happy, at least that this time it did not involve killing, but when they told me who you were, I thought 'uh-oh it's the elves thing'"

"'The elves thing?'"

"You know, send an elf to guard an elf… As if we weren't different… I resented that."

"Different, us?" she mocked, "You're Dalish and Orlesian…" A brief look of annoyance crossed his face, "or not" she added, and then continued, "I'm a mage, a Fereldan and shemlover… Cut from the same cloth…"

"I agree. What are your plans, are you looking for that woman?"

"I am, that is the main thrust of it, though I think it needs to be put on hold…"

"Then you return to Ferelden…"

"Why do you assume that?"

"Oh, well, since you and… 'Alistair', seem to get on…"

"I do not intend to return to Ferelden. I will not discuss why. I think I should link up with some Grey Wardens here in Orlais, one in particular…"

* * *

It took them over two weeks to chase him down, despite that fact that he wasn't running and he was quite near. He was sitting on a bench at a rough outside table in front of a little house surrounded on all sides by apple orchards in blossom with a large ceramic mug in front of him. There was a cloth round his eyes and although he was still large of frame, it was as if all the flesh on him had melted. His healers staff lay on the bench beside him.

"Neriya," he said "it was good of you to advise me beforehand that you were coming." The local Grey Warden commander had in fact, insisted on it.

"Konrad, how are you?"

"As you see…", he chuckled miserably, "I can't seem to get away from that wretched word… Not good, I lost my sight a few weeks back and I could only see shadows in the day, that and the nightmares… I would rather see nothing or darkness, hence the… Well, this." He gestured towards the bandage over his eyes.

"I have come to tell you what Al… What I did, but first…" she got up and went over to his side of the table. Lifting up her smock she placed his hand on her naked belly.

"What's this…" said Konrad, and then, "ah! Is it yours and Alistair's?" he asked.

"Yes." She replied.

He shook his head, "Nothing good will come from this," he muttered, "nothing good…" he picked up his mug and took a long swallow of the cider.

Neriya was silent for a fair while, looking at her hands folded in her lap. "I'd hoped you'd say something different…"

"I seem to have lost my capacity for deceit along with everything else…" said Konrad, "It is the taint, you know, it has physical effects too…"

Neriya looked at the beautiful apple orchards and sighed… "Another thing Alistair has to be told…"

"You care so much about him," remarked Konrad.

"Believe me," said Neriya, "he is fully worthy of such affection, I did what I did, and persuaded him to go along with it because… I just could not stand… I could not _bear_ to think of a world without him in it. A world that would continue, if I'd allowed him to die, as in a very deep way he wished to, just as it had ever been. I would not want such a world. I would not want to be part of such a world, so I…"


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Dragon 9:34

Ferventis/Justinian Denerim [Present]

Oswyn looked as though he was enjoying himself.

"I really didn't know that the beer was so good here…" he commented. "So, how can I be of service…"

They were sitting in the bar but at a table just behind an arch so although they got all the background noise they were not directly visible to most of the other patrons.

"I've been thinking," said Alistair, "Thinking about Ferelden, this country of ours, and, no, not when I'm drunk or… But I was wondering what sort of country I would like my daughter to grow up in, and this is not it."

"Send her to Orlais, Antiva or Trevinter then…" Oswyn replied blithely.

"How could I? I'm going to keep her close, I'm not letting her out of my sight… I've noticed that that is what tends to happen, that you nobles sent your spawn abroad, sow you wild oats there, enjoy the differences and then come back to Ferelden with no inclination to change her whatsover… Ultimately it's not very constructive…"

"So what are you saying?"

"Ferelden needs to change, or rather, I need to change it. We're just a tiny, troubled corner of Thedas but we can be better…" Said Alistair leaning back, putting his feet on the table and raising his eyes to the tavern's smoky, cracked ceiling. "I have about twenty years, by my reckoning… If something doesn't happen before that. Twenty years is not very long, in the larger scale of things…"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I would have thought…"

"That I would be interested in assisting you?" said Oswyn completing the sentence, "First you need resources…"

"First I need _people_, good people, people I can trust, _then_ I need resources," Alistair corrected him.

"Why me, oh King…"

"Well, you seem competent enough, you have a different background to me, you've seen things…" He paused, "Am I going to have to flatter you like some girl to get you to say yes?"

"Hmm," said Oswyn, "You could certainly get me another beer…"

"You think I'm rich or something?" Alistair put his hand up and a barmaid appeared, blushing, "One, two," he said, "pretty…" as she walked away.

"Whatever we do, let's not change the barmaids, eh?" grinned Oswyn.

"Barmaids stay. Definitely." Said Alistair.

"What were you thinking…"

"I was thinking of forming some sort of council… To, um, consider things, formulate strategies, hear petitions…"

"You mean in public?" Asked Oswyn.

The barmaid came back with the beers. Alistair waited until she was out of earshot before responding.

"Do you think this could be done in public? Because I don't. No, not in public, sort of… Under wraps."

"Intriguing…"

"Yes, intrigue. Well, I got you another beer…"

"Yes." Said Oswyn, "Yes. Yes."

"That's a relief, now I _don't_ have to kill you…"

"Ha, ha, very funny…"

"Change of subject… about this troublesome Bann…"

"Ceorlic?"

"Ceorlic."

"Arrest him. Put him on trial… Same as Habren…"

"You think?"

"What are you going to do, poison him, give him to the elves? It has to be done openly…"

"I wasn't thinking of doing anything underhand. But he's going to resist, isn't he? He might even want to make some sort of stand..."

"Yes, he is," said Oswyn, mulling that over for a while, "… Circulate the confession that we have from Bann Walford throughout Denerim and especially in Redcliffe and South Reach at the same time as you go to arrest him…"

Alistair frowned, "I'll need to talk to Anora, get her on board…"

"I think that would be wise." Oswyn agreed, "and while we're on the subject of awkward women, do you want to hear what Pup told me?"

* * *

There was only one other person at the dawn chant that Tuesday, a thin gaunt woman with grey hair who stood the other side of the chapel aisle from Alistair, also in the front row, and did not raise her face once from the ground. True to his word, Alistair had brought nothing to the recital, but as a result he dozed off several times, once even while standing. He intended no disrespect to Mother Gertrude, who, despite her obvious frailty, seemed to be putting all her energy into the chant, but he found he simply could not help himself.

At last, the service finished and the woman scurried away without so much as a word. "Her husband is dying so she attends very frequently," said Mother Gertrude following her with her eyes.

"I am sorry…" said Alistair, who didn't really know what to say.

"He's been dying for three years… Come in here," said Gertrude opening a door next to the altar, not without some difficulty.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure…" She ushered him into a smallish room with a few bookcases a wardrobe and other odd bits of furniture. "Now what did you want?" The Revered Mother gestured him towards a chair.

"You know the last time we spoke? Almost two years ago…"

"Yes…"

"You mentioned then that my father brought me down to be blessed when I was no more than a babe in arms… I was wondering if you could repeat what you told me then and also if you knew, more or less, when that was…"

Mother Gertrude covered her eyes with her hand, concentrating, "You had those same hazel eyes, and a swatch, just a swatch, of blond hair. King Maric brought you down early one morning, alone, and asked whether I could bless you. You were his, I could see the resemblance even then, and he seemed pleased to have you, but he said he was sending you away. I said that that was cruel, he should bring you up with your half-brother, he replied it's what both he and your mother wanted, that they didn't wish you to be burdened with who he was… I didn't agree, but I understood what he was saying. So I blessed you and sent you both on your ways."

Mother Gertrude lowered her hand and looked at Alistair, "He had enemies, you know, King Maric, lots of them and he was not particulary happy with the responsibilities of the crown… Like you, I think. Perhaps what he wanted for you would have been better after all…"

Alistair was silent for a while, "So you are saying that he seems to have specifically spoken to my mother…"

"Yes, that was the impression I got, the distinct impression."

"Did he give you any hint of who my mother might be?"

"No… But…"

"But…"

"There was a rumour going round the palace at the time, I even heard one of the chamberlains tell it, seemingly first hand, that some Grey Wardens had had a midnight audience with the King and that they had delivered you to him…"

Alistair sat back and said wryly, "I've heard of babies coming from Val Royeaux and Fade dreams, and even being found under cabbages, but never previously, being delivered by Grey Wardens…"

Mother Gertrude laughed "It's good to have a sense of humour especially at your own expense…" she said, "That is what I heard, give it the value that you wish…"

"You wouldn't happen to know roughly when this was, would you, Revered Mother?"

"There I _can_ help you." She went to one of the shelves and then said resignedly, "Well, it looks as though you need to help yourself… The top shelf there, the fourth one along…" Alistair stood and got an old leather bound book down for her. She leafed through it quickly. "No, not this register, must be the next one…" He got that down for her.

"Here you are… That's my, horrible, crabbed script." She said pointing at a blotted, stained page "'DA 9:08 14 Nubulis: Blessing for unknown male child – Maric, Rex'" Alistair took the register from her and read it for himself.

"I was told I was born in Parvulis 9:07, I would have been about six months when you saw me…" He said looking at her expectantly.

"I don't know much about children, at least first-hand but that sounds about right…"

He closed the register and handed it back to her, "Well, that's… Mother Gertrude, um, helpful, I guess. Very helpful."

"Are you sure you want to persist in this?"

"You mean finding out who my mother was? Yes, definitely. Yes. "

"You do realise you might not like what you find? Not all of these stories end well, you know…" she said sternly.

"But I was lied to, Revered Mother. I was told my mother was a servant girl living in Redcliffe who died giving birth to me. Not that there's anything wrong or shameful about being a servant or the child of one. Now I want to know not only who she was, but why her identity was concealed with untruths…"

"As I just said, and I know nothing apart from what I have already told you… There may be very good reasons for that."

"And people might be seeking to protect me for my own good. Yes, another wise woman told me that." He paused, "Well… Thank you, thank you very much and…"

"Your Majesty, before you go, can you spare _me_ a moment…"

"Of course."

"Please sit down…"

Alistair sat down again.

"I… Ah… are you aware of having offended the Chantry in any way…"

Alistair's eyes narrowed, "That could be a loaded question… Why do you ask Revered Mother?"

"Please do not repeat this… I have heard that certain people higher up in the hierarchy… Much higher up than I, you understand, are displeased with you…"

"This is not about my personal life…"

"No. Quibbling about that is my concern, as your chaplain. No, we are talking politics or policy, money, possibly… Please…"

"I will not disclose what you have told me or are about to tell me…"

"Again, I do not know if this is truth or rumour but in my experience rumours do not come from nowhere… I have heard that many higher up are displeased with you and may be considering taking action…"

"What kind of action?"

"I really have no idea…"

"Why are they displeased?"

"They say you are seeking to undermine the Chantry's power, its standing…"

"What does that mean?"

"As I said: that usually means authority, influence, money…"

Alistair sighed and shook his head. "This is all very vague…"

Mother Gertrude gathered herself, "As I have said I know nothing specific but I have heard rumours, and if I were you, I would look out for myself, Your Majesty…"

"It is that bad?"

"Probably not, but better to be forewarned… We are not all the same, we clerics, Maker forbid. there are those within the Chantry who are also unhappy with the way things are, who believe that it meddles in things that should not concern it, that it is oppressive and authoritarian sometimes, that some of its actions do not reflect the will of the Maker or of his Holy Wife... One of those of that view is this Sister of mine,"

Mother Gertrude picked up a quill from the table dipped it and wrote a name on a parchment and handed it to Alistair, she is in Denerim Chantry, "should you wish information from someone of the pursuasion I have just described contact her… But…"

"I will not divulge this."

"Good. In any event, I do not believe I will be much affected now, even if you did…"

He nodded, "Well… For both things, I am very grateful… If there is anything I can do for you?" They walked out into the chapel.

"Pray…"

"Ugh… Please, Revered Mother, I am a man, tell me to _do_ something, not stand around…"

"Very well." She interrupted, "Arrange for some of my ashes to be buried under one of the tiles, here in front of the altar. I've worked and lived here for most of my life and I've been very happy here… I don't need an inscription or anything like that, the Maker knows where to find me and he knows my name, too. Don't ask for anyone's approval, it will never end; you're the King, anyway. Just do it."

"Right…" he said glancing down for a moment at the small, rather humble, terracotta tiles, slightly taken aback. "Well…"

"Do not worry about me, I am in good hands." Mother Gertrude said serenely, "Worry about yourself, Your Majesty."

* * *

The following day Dummond listened to barely the first two sentences of what Alistair was asking, shook his head and said, "Wait here."

He came back with a battered ledger and handed it to Alistair who looked at him surprised.

"Neriya was here about a year ago and asked me to give you this should you ever approach me with this kind of query… She didn't, however, give me any idea as to where to look in it."

Alistair swore quietly under his breath took the ledger from Dummond and then said, "I'm sorry…"

"Should I go?" asked the qunari.

Alistair shrugged and sat on one of the wooden chairs in the room perusing the ledger. Dummond sat behind the desk and watched him with some concern.

Alistair flipped through the ledger reading here and there but finally turned to the first page. "Bugger", he said.

"What is it?" asked Dummond.

"Bugger, bugger, bugger…"

Alistair laid the ledger in front of him and jabbed at the first entry with his finger:

"_9:08 Cloudreach: First entry. Have just returned from Redcliffe. I am sure Fiona's son will do well there, it is a beautiful area sited on the shores of Lake Calenhad. The Arl and his young brother seem hospitable and kind, if still grieving for their late sister, and were quite taken with the boy. The King is most grateful and true to his word has bequeathed this property in Denerim to the order to act as our headquarters. He has also made clear that he intends to return Soldier's Peak to the order in due course. Duncan of Rivain_

"That's me… Duncan, Neriya… They knew and they didn't tell me. That's me, the love of my life and the leader I most admired and respected… I can't believe they kept this from me… That they let me down so badly… I…" He was stumbling quite awkwardly over his words and Dummond suddenly felt sorry for him.

"Perhaps they weren't sure… Neriya certainly didn't seem to be sure… Perhaps Duncan was waiting for the right moment and died before it came… Perhaps… Would a drink help?" Ended Dummond, weakly, remembering that it about a year ago when he had had to break to Alistair the news that the taint would have physical as well as psychological effects.

* * *

Back then they had confessed to each other that the very thought of any infirmity or disease scared the living daylights out of them. Their solution had been to go out and get completely legless.

On their way back, Alistair, who for some reason Dummond could not quite grasp had been loitering behind, had said, "Wait a moment…" and disappeared down a side street. Dummond thought it was a call of nature of one kind until he had heard what appeared to be two voices, one of them lighter, and some gasps and groans and had been forced to conclude it was a call of nature of another kind. He leaned against a wall and crossed his arms against his chest, stoically lowered his chin and waited.

Alistair had come out of the side street lacing his breeches.

"Well, that took you all of half an hour…" Dummond had said unable to keep the harshness out of his voice.

Alistair had squinted up at him and replied, "She was really rather good…"

"I see." Dummond had responded, sounding a tad too condenscending.

"No, you don't, actually," Alistair had said suddenly getting riled up. The drink seemed to be affecting them both and not in a good way either, "You don't. Neriya left me. I have no-one… You have family and you told me just this evening you have a lover… Well, good for you, Dummond, I say. If you were only aware of the amount of times recently I've wished I'd died on the roof of bloody Fort Drakon…"

He waved a hand in the general direction of the immense fortress that sometimes seemed to overshadow the whole of Denerim, "There's only one thing worse than having everything to loose, and you know what that is? It's having _nothing_ to loose, absolutely nothing…"

* * *

"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…" Alistair was saying to him in the present, "Who is this Fiona? Do you know a Grey Warden called Fiona?"

It occurred to Dummond that he did, or had, she was a legend in her lifetime, probably about the same age as Duncan, come to think of it. One of the most respected Grey Warden seniors in Orlais for a long time, a mage of great judgment, stamina, beauty and destructive power and… an elf… _Ah,_ _merde_. Suddenly he understood both Neriya's and Duncan's reticence…

"Possibly." He said. He was aware that it was a very poor answer, but it was the best he could give in the circumstances.

"Possibly… said Alistair, "what does that mean?… possibly…"

"It means I need to check to be certain. It means, Alistair, you need to be patient and bear with me…" He said as gently as he could.

"But why won't you tell me what you know? Why didn't they? They… I loved them, love them both, and they didn't trust me… They…"

It was often that Dummond resorted to using his superior bulk to impose himself on someone or a situation but he realised that this could easily get out of hand through neither of their faults if one of them did not take control. He got up from behind the desk and put his hands on Alistair's shoulders and spoke quietly.

"I recognise this must be extremely difficult for you. I'm not quite sure what I know and until I'm certain I can't tell you because it may do more harm than good. I think both Neriya and Duncan found themselves in the same dilemma. But…" he continued, "I give you my word as a Grey Warden that I will see this through and will share with you everything I know once I've been able to check it. Everything…"

Alistair looked away, embarrassed, and then glanced at him and nodded silently.

"What we are going to do now is sit down and draft a letter to the current Commander of the Grey in Orlais and request information on both this Fiona and yourself. We can co-sign the letter if you wish. I should think it will be dealt with very quickly."

They wrote the letter together in the most formal Orlesian they could muster between them. Alistair insisted he should take it back to the palace for sealing and dispatch, Dummond was more than happy to agree.

Then they paid a visit to their favourite tavern, or, rather, their several favourite taverns, and got plastered… Again. When the time came to depart, Alistair began walking in the direction of the alienage. Dummond must have looked surprised.

"I'm going to pay someone a visit…" Alistair said turning towards him "And it's not what you think…" He said taking a few steps backwards so he was still facing him, "Really not."

"OK," said Dummond, "So long as they make you happy…"

"They do. Oh, they do…"


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Dragon 9:34

Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

Isabela was walking back to her ship after a most profitable night of cards on the Denerim sea front. Her overfilled purse jangled at her hip in a satisfying way with every one of her measured, perfectly balanced steps. It was barely two hours after dawn and shadows were still short but the day was already exceptionally hot for Denerim.

Suddenly, from between two stacks of packing cases a large figure stepped out blocking her way. His breeches hung perilously low over his hips and he was barefoot and naked from the waist up. Almost involuntarily, Isabela's eyes were drawn to the sweet golden happy trail that stretched from his navel to his waistband. Apprehensive, she took a step back and drew, perhaps someone was not so glad to have been cheated out of a few sovereigns.

"Isa…"

She looked up at his face, recognition dawning in her eyes, "Let me pass…"

"Invite me on to your ship…"

"You jest."

"Never was I more in earnest…"

"You're drunk…" He reeked of wine and the stews, Maker knows how he lost the rest of his clothing...

"Well beyond drunk…" he said taking a swallow from the wineskin he carried. "but it's not enough…" He had just emptied it, he realised, so he tossed it carelessly to one side where it landed with a deflated thud.

She placed the tip of her rapier against his adam's apple. He didn't flinch, "Get out of my way…" she said between clenched teeth.

Alistair raised his face to the clear sky, letting the sun play on it for a while. It was sometime since he had last felt the sun on his skin. He closed his pretty hazel eyes, and then opened them again and looked down at her, "Isabela, you wanted to borrow me, just a few years ago… I was with Neriya, another Grey Warden? I am even better now than I was then. I've learnt a few tricks. I can entertain you…" he moved his groin suggestively, following the effect on her features with great attention. "Oh…" he said, "nothing's changed, you _still_ want me…"

She licked her wide lips but turned her head avoiding his gaze, "It is too risky…"

"And you are afraid of risk now, Isabela? You of all people? Don't disappoint me…" he paused, "I want you… _Desperately_." He moved his right hand and calmly set aside her rapier from his throat. He squinted down at her in the bright sunlight and smiled lazily. Then he bent down and whispered, his breath almost burning her ear "No-one knows I'm here… Invite me…"

"Very well," said Isabela reaching a decision, "One week and no more." She placed one small hand against his bare chest which although sporting at least half a dozen scars was still beautiful, "Come with me, Sandro…" she said setting the pace.

"It's Ali…"

"No, it isn't." she said tartly turning back on her heels to face him. "Only Sandro gets to board _The Siren's Call_, and Sandro you will remain all the time you are on board. Are you clear on that?" Her dark eyes flashed.

"Perfectly, Isa…"

"Outside my bedchamber it's 'Ma'am' or _'mi capit__á__n'_"

"Perfectly, _mi ca-pi-t__á__n_." He said trying out the new words.

"_Bi__é__n_." She said briskly. "Follow me then."

As they walk up the gangplank on to the deck of _The Siren's Call_, she turns and asks, "What do you seek here, Sandro?"

Oblivion, he said in response: a touch of oblivion. She nods as if she fully understands.

* * *

She made him bathe and provided him with fresh clothing. They were served a meal.

"Those green and black things are olives… you have to cure them for at least a year in order to make them edible, they're mainly used for oil, though, and they make the tastiest cooking oil in Thedas. Careful, love, do not bite into them too deeply, they have very hard stones. The sausage is preserved with red peppers, that's what makes it red and spicy. Do you like spicy?" She looks at him from across the table raising her eyebrows.

"I like spicy well enough…" He said, moving his gaze from the plate set before him to her face.

"Good, because many Fereldans can only tolerate bland fare… I am not bland" She said.

"Rivaini goat's cheese. Antivan wine, of course, it has real depth and strength the flavour stays in your mouth and throat for a long time, not like that pee-pee you were drinking this morning… Bread…"

"I do know how bread is made," Alistair says, slightly annoyed now.

"Ah, my sweet, of course you do…"

The olives taste really strange to his unaccustomed palate, sort of oily, tangy and bitter, all at the same time, but they do go very well with the cheese which is dry salty and somehow… deep. The sausage is satisfyingly hot. The bread is fresh, fragrant and crumbly. Altogether, it is the tastiest meal he has had in a while and a relatively simple one at that. Then he tries the wine… it is like liquid sunshine, warm and heady in his mouth… Most of the reds he has savoured before are just pale shadows of this wine.

For dessert, he has an orange but she prefers grapes. He remembers when oranges were a First Day treat for him as a child at Redcliffe and their flavour and smell still means something special. He watches her pop the grapes into her mouth, bite down on them and spit out the pips. Even that is turning him on…

As she notices him watching her, she begins to do it more sensually, holding the grapes between her forefinger and thumb, biting them in half, licking the juice off her lips with a quick, pink tongue… The women has has spent substantial amounts of time with have only very, very rarely engaged in such displays and he doesn't know quite what his reaction should be, so he watches her with a half smile. In the event, when she extends her strong sticky fingers towards his face, he does what comes naturally to him and takes them in his mouth running his tongue over and around them and sucking at them very gently. Isabela seems pleased.

"Now," she says stretching, arching her whole body back from her waist so her breasts ride up, extending her arms and yawning, "Time for a _siesta_."

"_Siesta_?" he asks

"An after lunch nap. Sleep in the early afternoon, play all night…" she explains.

It sounds harmless enough, if a tad indolent. They go to her room. Nice, big comfortable-looking, bed. It resembles his, actually. She strips down to her smallclothes, he does likewise casting a casual glance in her direction. He likes what he sees, firm muscled legs. She smiles at him across the bed. He is pretty tired, in truth, having spent most of the night gambolling from tavern to tavern and drinking gnats' piss as she has just called it.

As he lay down, he wondered if this siesta thing was only about sleeping or if other activities could be involved in it. When he feels Isabela's impatient lips against his own and her hands sliding into his smallclothes and fondling him between his thighs, he guesses he has his answer. She tastes of the deep red wine they had both so recently drunk with a tang of fresh grapes thrown in. Her manipulations are unbelievably deft, so much so that he soon finds himself groaning with pleasure, telling her how much he is enjoying it and asking her not to stop. Alistair also attempts to respond in kind, he is not wholly inexperienced himself, after all, and soon she, too, is writhing under his touch…

Once they are both sated, as sleep grazes his eyelids, he congratulates himself silently for thinking to seek her out…

* * *

Lawler was half an hour late coming back from a day's leave, which made, by his rough estimation, about 10:00 in the morning. As usual, when he arrived about that time, he went straight to Alistair's workroom, the one with the view over the courtyard, the desk and the bookcases, the place where Alistair tended to gravitate in the morning one he had bathed, shaved and had breakfast in order to read and write undisturbed.

He knocked and then opened the door only to find the room empty. For a moment he wondered whether Alistair had simply popped out for a drink or some food, as he sometimes did. But taking a more thorough look around he realised the room had not been used at all that day. There were no books or parchments on the desk and the writing box was neatly stacked away. Alistair was normally very tidy, if not whilst working, at least once he had finished, probably due to the almost two years he spent living under canvas.

Lawler then descended to the kitchens where one of the cooks told him he had not seen Alistair at all the day before. This, although concerning, might not be so strange as it seemed, perhaps the cook been off duty when Alistair dropped by, perhaps there was some other explanation.

Lawler then went to Alistair's bedroom. Alistair was usually a morning person starting his day before eight. Lawler made sure to knock on the door several times quite loudly before venturing in.

The curtains had been opened and the room appeared to have been cleaned and the bed made, although Alistair tended to do this himself, an unmade bed usually meant that the sheets should be washed.

But, quite unusually, there were some letters on the desk in the bedroom, one of which appeared to have been crumpled up and then straightened out again. Alistair only very occasionally worked in his bedroom, he usually preferred to keep work, sleep, eating and diversions in different spaces.

Lawler took a quick look at the letters, he was not over-curious about other people's business by nature; he discovered that only the crumpled letter was actually in Fereldan. He had only recently learned to read, it had been a condition of his employment with Alistair that he do so and Wynn and sometimes Crabbe had given him lessons. He was not very confident with his new skill. He had no idea what language the other two letters were in but he assumed it would be Orlesian because he knew Alistair was fairly fluent in that language, and, otherwise, there would be no reason for the letters to be in his room rather that fielded out for translation. It was by now about 11:30 and Lawler decided to go round all the rooms again, just in case Alistair turned up in the meantime.

He had not.

Lawler then went to speak to Captain Kaylon, head of the palace guard. Together they were able to roughly ascertain that the last time the King had been seen was around the entrance gate three days ago. To Lawler this news was not quite as alarming as it might seem because there was a covert exit route from the palace only known to Alistair and Anora and two or three of their intimates of which he was one. It was by now noon and Lawler deemed that more radical steps were required.

"What is it?" Anora asked testily, "I was expecting Alistair, not you, where is he?"

"Ma'am…"

"Your Majesty," Anora corrected him.

"Your Majesty, a thousand apologies for disturbing you," Lawler was not at all used to dealing with Anora, "but it appears that Al… I mean his Majesty, has not been seen around the palace for at least two days…" He then gave her a hasty summing up of his recent enquiries.

"So no-one has any idea where he might be?"

"Apparently not, Your Majesty, and I did not want to make it too obvious that he might be missing…"

"Am I to understand that he would usually inform you of his whereabouts?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Could it be a woman?"

"It is possible, but I would usually know…"

Anora sighed, "Let's go to his room then…"

"Does he tell you everything?" She asked Lawler along the way.

Lawler struggled somewhat to explain, "As much as a man can," he replied, "but sometimes more than a man really should… Alistair is as he is…" he said recalling Alistair's exhuberance before the battle with the darkspawn. Anora glanced back at him, she seemed rather surprised, if only for a moment.

When they got to the bedroom Anora went straight for the parchments. First, she held up the crumpled letter. "Well, he does not seem very impressed with Lady Cousland's suggestion they should fight a few bouts. At least he has _some_ sense… That woman is tactless…" and she set it disdainfully to one side.

"Now these…"

She sat at the desk and perused them very carefully, raising her hands to frame her face once she started reading. When eventually she looked up from them, Lawler was taken aback that her face seemed even paler than usual. "He would have found these very distressing…" she said laying a hand on them. "You were on leave all day yesterday?"

"Yes."

"That's a pity, a great pity… It seems he must have received them the day before, after you left…"

Anora sighed and then went on to give Lawler a brief summary of their contents.

* * *

"So you're from Rivain," Alistair asked over supper that evening, roast poussins in honey and rosemary with beans, "I thought you were from Antiva."

"It is a common mistake," said Isabela licking her fingers,

"I knew somebody from Rivain," Alistair said, "A man called Duncan, he was the head of the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden for a few years… I don't suppose…"

Isabela suddenly sets her chicken down on her plate and stares at him "Of course I knew him, and very, very well. I first met him about fifteen years ago when I was in my early twenties… Do you want me to tell you what happened? I warn you, it will make for a long story…"

Alistair thinks it over for a few seconds. "Yes, tell me, tell me everything… I like stories…"

"I met him here on the Denerim docks. Fereldans do like to talk, you know, and news soon got to both of us that there was another Rivaini in the city so in a way we were both seeking each other out. I was very taken by him the moment I set eyes on him. My husband, a greasy bastard and a sot from the Free Marches and the first captain of this ship, was an inveterate gambler who would spend all night playing card games and more often than not ended up drunk and broke by dawn… Sandro, the night is young, as they say, but don't you think we should get comfortable? We can take the wine into the bedroom with us if you wish…"

What with kissing, undressing and caressing it took them just over half an hour to settle on the bed and for Isabela to continue her tale.

"Duncan was beautiful, as beautiful as you, but in a completely different way. He was lean, you are wide, he was dark, you are blond… Oh, I am a lucky woman!…

We started talking about Rivain and I told him what it was like, his mother was a gorgeous dark woman from Rivain, you see, and he had loved her very much, but although he had inherited her looks, he had never so much as visited the place.

We drank, but not much, and I saw him watching me, we were more getting drunk on each other, I suspect. I went a maiden to my husband, but I was used to pay off a debt, together with this ship… No, I will not explain that, it is still too painful, but my husband never really wanted me, he used me, of course, but like a plaything.

Duncan desired me, I soon realised, I had not noticed a man looking at me in that way before. I was not aware of it then, but he was in the early throes of the taint. The inevitable happened. Duncan's body was so strong and lean, his stomach muscles… As you know by now, I have a thing for male musculature, ah, well…" she said briefly pausing to stroke Alistair's abdomen.

"We were both kneeling naked on the bed in the inn, and I still remember running my hand over them, feeling how solid and firm they were… He was extremely amused that it was not so much his jutting sex that I was interested in, which was pretty enough, of course, as far as these things go, but his stomach…

Come think of it, yours…" She said tweaking Alistair's member affectionately, "is prettier than Duncan's and certainly… Oh, Sandro, you look so sweet when you go red like that, the tips of your ears flare… Anyway, when _Duncan_ was amused, his eyes lit up.

Then Duncan loosened his hair and it was so much longer than mine at the time, almost down to his waist. I had had to have mine cropped, you know, so it barely fell below my ears. We had an outbreak of lice on the journey from Rivian, which should tell you what kind of ship my husband the great greasy pig kept…" Isabela snorted disdainfully.

"Duncan's hair was so dark, dark as a raven's wing and thick, I ran my fingers through it many times and then I kissed him on the lips and cheeks feeling the rough texture of his beard against my skin, and petted him and he laughed. He let me do what I liked with him by way of foreplay and I loved that. 'You are a very strange girl,' he told, me, 'very, very strange…' 'So long as you like me.' I replied, 'I like you' he said, 'I like you and you don't know how much I want you…' his voice went deep, and he pushed me down on my back. He smelled so sweet and when he entered me, it felt so good …

The swine had taken me, broken me, and in two years of usage had not given me so much as an ounce of bliss, but that evening… That evening, I realised what a loving, capable man could do by way of giving me pleasure…

Duncan also began to teach me how to fight, 'you have a good body' he said, 'and a wild spirit, you should make a fine fighter, with a little effort and discipline.' Do you like this story, Sandro, you are not bored by my nostalgic sailor's ramblings?" Isabela suddenly asked.

"I love this story" said Alistair, "It is better than the oranges, than the Antivan wine and almost as good as giving myself to you…"

Isabela laughed and kissed his cheek quickly, "Flatterer… You _do_ learn fast. Well, it gets a little darker now," she added lowering her lashes. "My husband found out, naturally, almost overnight I went from utter misery to walking on air, I am no dissembler. He would have had to be blind or extremely stupid and though he was a pig, he was neither. He beat me very, very hard and used me… Duncan was distressed, he suggested he should talk to my husband but I would not hear of it. I did not want to see Duncan soiled by the swine's blood, you see. I told Duncan I would handle it and he shook his head, he thought I had lost leave of my senses and it would end badly for me, I could tell. But he respected me and he did not intervene. Shortly after the beating, we set sail from Denerim, of course.

We meandered for several months down the coast of the Free Marches, stopping for a few weeks at each main city, and then Antiva. It was when we came to Antiva City that I seized my opportunity. Zev was young then, just starting out, and cheap. If there is one thing Zev loves more than precious metals or fancy clothes it is _'el amor'_. Love was part of the price he demanded and after months enduring the pig at sea I was more than happy to give in to Zev. I had never made love to an elf before… The pig was gross, Duncan was intense and passionate, Zev was fun, his body was lissom and flexible, and he had a lively sense of humour, we laughed as much as we fucked…

My husband was an easy mark, he cheated at cards one time too many, there was a fight and Zev finished it. I was so pleased I gave Zev more gold than promised and we made loved again. He taught me a few things in terms of love and fighting… It was at also about that time that I began to develop a taste for women. Zev is responsible for much of the way I am now.

In any event, I was now the ship's captain. I changed her name, I took her to Rivain and restocked, recruiting a crew more to my taste. In spring of the following year, I set sale for Denerim again.

As soon as I arrived, I sent word around the port. Within a fortnight, Duncan was calling to me from the queyside. He boarded me here in this same cabin, but he wanted to know what had happened. I always tell my lovers the truth so I told him much the same story as I have just told you.

Duncan was not happy. Not happy at all, he said 'If only you had let me speak to your husband…' it was then that I realised he was serious about the speaking part… I should have listened and trusted him a little more. Who knows? It might have gone well or it might have gone badly for us… Duncan refused to touch me after that. But I told him that he knew we were made for each other and I knew eventually he would come around. I made it clear that I would be returning to Denerim every summer and he would know where to find me, I had named my ship _The Siren's Call_, after all… Within two summers, he was back in my arms and we were sparring on the deck one moment and making love down here the next…

I have not seen him for five years. I do not like to think what happened to him, but in any event, he felt his time drawing near and he told me as much the last time I saw him."

Alistair was going to say something, to tell her what befall Duncan, about Ostagar… But, as if she knows what he is about to say, she puts her finger on his lips and goes "Shhhh…" so he keeps his silence, wondering how fate, and his past, one way or another, always managed to catch up with him.

Isabela helped herself to a few more cups of wine and lay for a while looking at the canopy of the four-poster. Then she turned towards Alistair and ran her hands over his shoulders, arms, chest and thighs, put her mouth on his and pressed her stomach flush against his length as they shared one of those langourous kisses that made him ache so sweetly.

"I am like Zev, you see," she breathed stroking his hair, "I always extract a price in affection. If you enjoyed my tale you need to pay me for it by making love to me tonight as tenderly and slowly as you can…" _I can do that_, Alistair thinks.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Dragon 9:34

Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

Lawler agreed with Anora that he would start his search in Denerim and then, after a week, they would review the position. She gave him one hundred sovereigns to cover any expenses and he was very taken aback, and tried to thank her fulsomely she shrugged off his attempts and just said, "Do your duty. Find him and bring him back here even if you have to pry him off some woman's lap by the ear…"

First, of course, he visited Bregeth and Niamh, Bregeth sat Lawler in the kitchen served him some warm broth with herbs and, with perfect amiability, pried everything he knew from him. They had not seen Alistair for three days, but Bregeth told Lawler that sometimes he turned up late at night and when he had been drinking, he had developed the habit of sleeping in the parlour as best he could so they often found him when they went down for breakfast much the worse for wear. Alistair then usually wished them good morning, played with his daughter a little, had breakfast with them, and was off. Bregeth did not explain what the arrangements were when he had not been drinking and Lawler did not ask.

They agreed that should Alistair turn up Bregeth would send the little redheaded elven girl to the palace with a bunch of elfroot for Lawler.

Lawler then visited The Pearl, just on the off chance, where Sanga assured him that Alistair had not been seen, was not there and was not even a habitual client. "As I understand it," she informed him sniffily, "he much prefers street trade…" Lawler left cursing the haughtiness of whores under his breath.

Lawler got his break at The Mermaid and Anchor where the barman said he saw Alistair late the day before last with a group of sailors. This was confirmed by Priya, when she returned for her evening shift. She knew those sailors well, she said, she described them as "picturesque" and identified their ship as The Siren's Call. It had a female captain she remarked, a certain Isabela. Lawler's ears pricked up at that…

* * *

So it was that around midday the next day Lawler was standing on the poop deck of The Siren's Call with some new friends. He managed to ingratiate himself with the group of sailors with much greater ease than he even suspected possible because they had something in common. Anora's sovereigns had also helped, these being sailors, they drink like fish and some of them have rather exotic alcoholic preferences that do not come cheap. This was Lawler's one difficulty, he was not much of a drinker himself and yet he had to be seen to be keeping up. In the end he waylaid black-eyed Priya and asked that she serve him water which he pretended was spirits and for which he (or rather Anora) paid the full spirit price. He was sure Priya was pocketing the difference, but, what the hell, the girl worked hard and gave him his tipoff. It all worked out well in the end, though, he and a rather stout young Trevinter called Puy whose drinking also seemed to be limited, ended up putting the others to bed or rather dumping them in their hammocks. Puy actually seemed rather grateful for the help.

Puy, looking fresh faced and rosy-cheeked was leaning on the handrail next to him. Lawler always thought that Trevinters would be rather dark but as Puy informed him, "We Trevinters are a mixed lot…" Hamm was sitting in the corner quietly polishing the disassembled artefact that yesterday at the Mermaid and Anchor he was claiming loudly, would end civilization, as Thedas knew it.

"So Captain Isabela…"

"Is a bit busy at the moment… She has a new beau, he's rather dashing actually…" says Puy.

"There's a rumour he's the King of Fereldan…" Whispered Casaubon, an Orlesian, with a hint of excitement.

"So much rubbish." Snorted Lucky, a dwarf. From his accent Lucky is not Fereldan but when Lawler, politely, tried to delve a little deeper into his origins, Lucky just said, "I'm a dwarf, where d'ya think I come from? Underground of course."

"Is not…" argued Casaubon.

"It is and I'll tell you why… Because…" said Lucky, "Surface Kings always get this thing called an 'education': they learn how to ride a horse, governance, languages, table manners, the history of the Chantry, diplomacy, non-chalance, how to be polite to ladies…"

_How to behead a darkspawn in one stroke_, added Lawler for himself, despite his initial alarm at the subject of the conversation, he was now finding it quite amusing.

"…how to drink without looking drunk…"

_Alistair certainly missed out on that one_, thought Lawler.

"Oh, I thought the basics of royal education were: the_ Trivium_, grammar, rhetoric and logic, and the_ Quadrivium_, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music, supplemented by…" Chipped in Puy.

"Oh, shut up Holy bloody Father…," said Casaubon and the others immediately began to boo and whistle.

Puy went slightly red "… a long story…" he muttered to Lawler.

"… and dancing…" Lucky finished.

"I do agree on the dancing…," said Puy.

"Good." Said Lucky, "and I'm sure we all agree now that this guy can't dance for toffee…"

"…_ergo_…" interjected Puy,

"Whatevs, he can't be the King. A cousin or something, perhaps, but not the King… Anyway the King of Ferelden is called Alistair, Priya told me that, and this guy's name is Sandro…"

"Well, that is such a _conclusive_ argument…," said Puy rolling his eyes, but fortunately no one but Lawler seemed to notice his comment.

At that moment, there was a sound from below, a squeaking hinge, a door pushed open. A striking woman with dark curly hair almost down to her waist and a derriere to die for, which she knew how to move, came out on to the main deck. Followed by… Alistair, even from behind there is no doubt that it was he, the wide shoulders, the honey blond hair... Lawler was wholly unprepared for the feeling of relief and some other emotions that he could not quite put a name to, that coursed through him in that instance of recognition.

They were both carrying foils, Alistair was clearly displeased with the weapons, even when he had his back to Lawler, Lawler could tell, just by the way he was impatiently swishing the foil back and forth. Having taken what he hopes is a glance; Lawler turned away from the view of the main deck to face the others.

"There they are, the love birds…," said Casaubon.

"Does Isabela pick up a lot of men?" asked Lawler.

"Is the Archon a Trevinter?" asked Puy.

"Men, girls, you name it… So long as they're pretty." Said Lucky.

Lawler pretended not be interested in what was happening on the main deck but out of the corner of his eye he saw them practicing basic stances. From what he could see, Isabela was pretty strict with Alistair, far more than he would be, kicking his feet to put them in the correct position, making pointed remarks…

"Funny what happened during their second session yesterday wasn't it?" Said Puy.

"Oh yes, she's going to get her own back today, that's for sure…" Remarked Lucky.

"What happened yesterday?" asked Lawler.

"I'll tell you," said Puy, "He hates foils. Foils give her an advantage and put him at a disadvange. On their first day, Isabela made the mistake of using blunted cutlasses for their first session. Sandro had her on the deck in barely four minutes… So she switched to foils. Anyway, they started with the foils and he was standing quite still moving the foil from one opening position to another. He had apparently grasped that she would not usually move until he did and this was a shortcoming, she was following every movement he made like a hawk as she usually does. He is pretty impetuous and Isa really exploits that… He was doing this for a few minutes and then, surprisingly, Isa began to loose patience and made a few half-hearted lunges. I think she'd had it too easy and might have gotten used to it. He carried on a little longer and this weird little smile began to play on his lips… This was just really an extension of foreplay for them both, I reckon. Eventually he put his foil in a lowered position and she was following it with her eyes as usual and then…"

Lawler heard the clash of blades from the deck below, obviously they had just moved from stances to hands on practice. Lawler was pretty certain Alistair would fare badly, he was not about finesse but strength and force, the foil would deny him most of that, still he admired him for giving it a try, although he guessed only a pretty woman would induce him to do so.

"…He drops it." Puy continued, "She tracked _the foil_ with her eyes, as he had been training her to do, and not his body. It was a mistake and a very big one. He charged her, hit her in the mid section with his shoulder and hoisted her over his back, like a sack of potatoes. She started screaming once she'd recovered her breath, 'Sandro! Sandro!' waving her foil ineffectively. He laughed, he's got quite a wicked laugh, and carried on running, took her down to the lower deck and her bedroom, those of us that could, tried to follow them… Just about remembered to shut the door, disappointingly. There was a thud as he dropped her on the bed, followed shortly by another one which was probably him jumping on top of her. Half an hour later, she was still screaming 'Sandro!' from the bedroom… After a while, it all went quiet… I saw them at supper later that evening, they both looked exhausted, but he was far happier than he has been…"

Lawler reflected that you could only use a feint of the kind Puy had described with the same opponent just the once. Perhaps Alistair was not intending to stay that long? Perhaps he was reading too much into things…

"So what else do they do?" Lawler asked.

Casaubon sighed.

"They dance." Said Puy, "She's trying to teach him to dance…"

"Bummer really," added Lucky, "he's hopeless…"

"But at least he's getting lots of the other thing… and then there's the kissing…" said Casaubon.

"That's why we're here," Lawler looked down to find Lucky squinting up at him. "For the kiss…" he said winking.

"It's our hobby." said Puy.

"Sad, you're all sad," said Hamm suddenly from the corner, putting down a piece of the artefact with a clang.

"No we're not, we're just… romantic…" said Casaubon.

"Speak for yourself, petal," said Lucky, "I'm lusty…"

"I'm…" said Puy eyeing Lawler, "just a humble student of human nature…"

They watched the end of the sparring and although Alistair acquitted himself better than Lawler had expected, he still lost. The dancing, to some rather scratchy music played on a flute, mandolin and accordion, was… painful, at least at first. Isabela resorted to counting aloud, "One, two, three, four… twirl. One, two, three, four… twirl. One, two, three, four, FIVE… twirl."

Finally, Isabela seemed to conclude that that this method wasn't working. Lawler had a glimpse of Alistair leaning down towards her and Isabela obviously explaining something to him, given the amount of hand gestures she was making. Lawler realised Isabela had some very eloquent body language, he wondered if that was one of the sources of her attractiveness. Perhaps he should not have been looking at their interaction for so long but then he noticed the others were, too. In any event, Isabela put her pelvis against Alistair's and smiled up at him, he returned the smile and then she began to move and he began to follow her in a much more relaxed fashion than previously.

"Ahhhh…" said Casaubon.

"So, what do you make of him?" Lawler asked turning to Puy.

"Of our 'Sandro'? Isabela is a lucky girl, he is very beautiful and I do not mean physically, which goes without saying… I mean he loves where he lusts and he does not even seem to realise he is doing it. Possibly our _capit__á__n_ could show him the difference, but why should she? It is an attractive trait, almost innocent, and she is benefiting from it…"

Eventually the dancing stopped and Isabela went downstairs for a moment while Alistair wandered towards the port side of the main deck, put his elbows on the side and started looking out to sea. Lawler wondered whether he was thinking about the letter…

Isabela came back on deck but Alistair did not seem to notice, still looking out to sea. Isabela waited a while and then went up to him and put her hand on his waist, and then allowed it to smoothly drop down to his behind. Alistair came out of his daze and exchanged a few words with her, perhaps remonstrations? His expression was serious. Isabela replied, very fully. Half way through he put a hand on her cheek, she bent her face to one side and nuzzled against it. He smiled. Then he put his other hand on the opposite side of her face and pulled it towards him.

Their heads were close for a considerable length of time, Alistair's arms dropped to her shoulders and he hugged her against him. Isabela broke it eventually but he still beamd at her, she caught his hand and they went down below.

Casaubon allowed himself to breathe again and said, "Nine,"

"Seven," said Lucky, "it wasn't bad…"

"I'd say eight," added Puy, "progress is definitely being made here, and the kisses are getting longer…"

"Two" said Hamm from the corner, he had not even bothered to look, unlike the others.

Puy murmured to Lawler, "Hamm always gives less than four if it's not girl on girl… Lawler?"

"Seven and a half?" Mumbled Lawler.

"Nice compromise." Remarked Puy, turning to face him, "But, why are you showing such an intense interest in our latest male visitor, Lawler?"

Suddenly, all eyes were on him. Inside, Lawler heaved one great sigh. Puy was too perceptive and some distraction was needed, obviously. Therefore, taking a leaf from Alistair's book he wrapped his arms around the Trevinter pulled him close and put his lips on his. Puy was taken completely by surprise at first but then he responded in kind and passionately. Their tongues entwined… Eventually Lawler let him go.

There was a stunned silence, until Casaubon said: "Ten."

"Eight" said Lucky.

"Four" said Hamm.

Puy's eyes did not leave Lawler's face, "Participants don't vote," he said, his voice husky, "but that was… Wow…"

* * *

That evening after supper, Isabela began to teach Alistair how to cheat at cards. Well, not cheat exactly but how to be a better card player, explaining tells, bluffing, slow playing, best hand play, card counting and betting patterns. Alistair found it all quite amusing, in a detached kind of way.

Afterwards they went to her room where she took him quite frantically; collapsing against his shoulder once they were done. He eventually eased her to one side and gently disentangled himself from her.

"So you must know quite a lot about us, then," He asked after a while, turning toward her. "I mean the Grey Wardens."

"I can smell all you Wardens, Sandro. I find it quite a pleasant, sweet, attractive smell, like early spring blossom. Male or female you all remind me of Duncan."

She sighed, "You carry death around inside you and you wear it around your necks to remind yourselves of it." Isabela clasped his pendant, the only thing he was wearing, in her hand and used it to pull his face towards her, kissing him almost delicately on the lips, "You think of it everyday, when you first wake and before you sleep, and especially when the nightmares come… At sometime or other, you all seek oblivion to make these lives of yours bearable. Before the taint overcomes you, in its first flowering, it gives you strength, persistence and especially endurance, your appetites increase, all your appetites…" She stroked him briefly, making him stir once again, "But then… I should not speak of that…" Abruptly she turned away from him.

Alistair lifted up her long hair and kissed her neck, then said gently, "What Isabela?" turning her around towards him and taking her face in his hands, unsurprised to see tears brimming in her eyes, "what were you going to say? You should say it all, you know, otherwise it will poison you."

"You burn quick…" her eyes over spilled and her tears made bright tracks down her face, "you burn quick, you loose everything you gained and more, and then you all seek that death you have been carrying around inside for so long…"

Alistair put his arms around her, kissed away her tears and then said, "Thank you, I knew all this but thank you for putting it so well and thank you for having me here… And, thank you especially for your compassion and your heartfelt tears."

After a while, she asked him, "Do you want to talk about Neriya, Sandro?"

"Not particularly." He replied looking up at the canopy with his hands crossed over his belly.

"Your feelings at being a Grey Warden."

"No."

"What brought you here?"

"Definitely not."

"We still have a few more days… Perhaps we should get a little more adventurous…"

"What would you suggest?" He asked propping himself up on his side.

"Forfeits…"

"You mean if I win I get to spank you for being such a naughty girl? Hmmm… Not hard of course…"

Isabela laughed. _She's like the sea she lives on_, he thought, _deep and meaningful one minute, light and frothy the next, changeable by the moment._ "Oh you are already there Sandro! …and I would tie you to this bed and have my wicked way with you."

_Maker… _he allowed his eyes to drift to the slightly crumpled sheet under them_, it might almost be worth losing…_

_

* * *

_

Lawler hoped that it was not this thing that had suddenly developed between him and Puy that was the determining factor, but he decided to give Alistair three more days. That evening Puy said:

"I suppose it would be too much to ask that…"

"Early days" Lawler replied quickly, hoping that the other man could not see him blush.

"But you have… before…"

"Yes." Said Lawler suddenly bristling, "we may not be as advanced here as in Trevinter, but…"

"I intended no offence… Look, I don't know why you're here and I imagine you are not going to tell me. Doesn't matter. Whatever it is, I'll keep my big mouth shut from now onwards. But just tell me that that kiss was for real because I can still feel it…"

Lawler put his forehead against Puy's, "It was for real… I have to go now. I'll be back tomorrow…"

"Good," said Puy, "good."

Lawler then sought out Anora and, adopting an air of mystery, assured her Alistair was safe, but he also told her it was going to take him at least three days to bring him back.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Dragon 9:34

Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

It was about seven in the morning of the sixth day and everybody except for Lawler appeared to sleeping off the night before on The Siren's Call. The crew had gone on their usual tavern crawl and Alistair and Isabela apparently had forfeits to work out. Lawler therefore rapped pretty loudly on the dark panelled door of Isabela's cabin. He waited a few moments only to be greeted by utter silence so he rapped again. The third time he heard some muffled sounds and then the door cracked open.

Thankfully, Isabela was wearing her smallclothes and over them a rather diaphanous wrap. The first clear sound to come from her was a yawn that she barely managed to stifle, then she said: "Who the hell are you?"

"Doesn't matter." Said Lawler, "I've come for Alistair."

"Ummm," said Isabela suppressing another yawn.

"I think you should invite me in…"

"Why?" She asked, "This is my bloody ship…"

"But Alistair isn't yours, is he?" Said Lawler, happy to have remained sober.

"Come on in then…" She said reluctantly pulling the door ajar.

Lawler entered her cabin and Isabela shut the door behind him allowing herself to drop down onto a divan against the port wall.

"Well there he is," she said gesturing vaguely in the direction of the bed, "See if _you_ can rouse him…"

"It's a bit close in here…" Said Lawler and it was, it was dark and the cabin smelt of claustrophobia and intense lovemaking.

"Particular, aren't we?" Said Isabela, but she went to the back wall and pulled back a curtain revealing a small row of windows on the stern. The room suddenly flooded with light and the large figure in the bed groaned piteously and pulled at the covers. Isabela hauled up one of the panes and, for a brief moment, Lawler saw her trim shape perfectly outlined through the wrap by the brightness. Fresh salty air flooded the small room.

"Hey-ho" said Isabela, "Happy now?" and she returned to the divan. "My head aches…" She said fingering her forehead.

Lawler approached the bed.

"Alistair…" he said softly at first. When there was no response from the figure he began shaking it by its shoulder, "Alistair, Alistair, time to go now… Come on…"

The only response was an unhappy groan and a further pull at the bedclothes.

"Alistair, get up now," said Lawler, and he began tugging at the sheets, "_Bregeth_ is missing you… Come on…" but Alistair only tugged back and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

"Oh for the love of the Maker…" said Lawler.

"Leave me…", the voice moaned.

"Alistair! You're missed, you're needed…"

"Go away!" said Alistair and pulled the covers completely over himself.

"What have you done to him?" said Lawler accusingly turning to Isabela.

Isabela sat on the divan with her hand still on her forehead shading her eyes. "_Nada_" she said, "Only good food, good drink and sex, lots and lots of sex…The Siren's Call: Best floating hotel in Denerim, that's us."

"Please…" Lawler found himself at a complete loss. He sat defeated on the edge of the bed. Isabela was looking at him curiously. Not knowing what else to do he mouthed, "Please help me…" to her.

She sighed, and rose to her feet, "Very well, it's nigh time to move on and I have been peeing lava for the last two days, anyway…"

She walked over to the bed, "Sandro…" she said imperiously with her hands on her hips. There was a muffled reply from under the covers, but at least it sounded like a response.

"Sandro, you need to get up and make yourself presentable…"

"No!" said the voice

"What was that?" demanded Isabela.

"No…" said the voice far more weakly.

"Don't make me box your ears again, Sandro…" Isabela climbed up onto the bed crawled over the covers, finally draping her legs over the bulky figure under them. She leaned forward and began to whisper. Eventually, the figure uncovered its head and Lawler caught a glimpse of Alistair's tousled hair. Then a muscled arm emerged from under the covers and reached for Isabela pulling her face close to his. Isabela's mouth began to move and her body bent forward, clearly relaxed, twitching occasionally. Lawler looked at them longer than he probably should have. Eventually one of Isabela's hands moved behind her with her index finger extended, clearly pointing to the door. Lawler left then, not knowing whether he would get what he came for.

* * *

About forty minutes later the cabin door creaked open and Isabela emerged in her thigh high boots breeches and chemise with Alistair behind her in breeches, a chemise and a battered pair of boots. His expression was rather sheepish.

Lawler walked over to them. "Well, here he is, as good as new, I think," said Isabela, "aren't you, Sandro?" she said turning to him.

"Well," said Alistair, "slightly worn…"

"It's good to see she hasn't _quite_ eaten you alive, anyway." Said Lawler.

"Oh," replied Isabela, "you should know he asked me to do that several times but I decided to spare him…" she winked at Lawler.

"I'm sorry," said Alistair looking away and not meeting Lawler's eyes.

They went up on deck.

"We better disembark before madam the pirate here changes her mind and decides to kidnap us both…"

"Actually, it's called press-ganging when it happens on a ship," said Isabela.

At the head of the gangplank Alistair turned to Isabela, held her hands in his, murmured some words that Lawler who was already half way down did not quite catch, and ran one hand over her dark hair. He then followed Lawler.

"Alistair," Called Isabela when he was half way down, "what happened to Duncan?"

Alistair turned on his heels to face her and said very formally, "He died a true warrior's death at Ostagar, fighting beside his King, Cailan, my half brother, who also passed that day…"

Isabela pulled herself up straighter and said "Thank you."

He added "I am deeply sorry."

"Perhaps I shall see you again sometime," Isabela said.

"Perhaps you will." Alistair replied.

* * *

When they were on the quayside and out of earshot of the ship, Lawler turned to Alistair and said. "I presume, you've got everything you boarded The Siren's Call with?"

"Lawler," said "Alistair, "When I boarded The Siren's Call I was only wearing a smile, some breeches and my smallclothes…"

Lawler's lips tightened and he shook his head.

"I can see we need to talk things through, I need to explain… and apologise, I…," said Alistair.

"Not here." said Lawler. "Later."

They were about to leave the port area when they heard someone running behind them. Both Alistair and Lawler turned.

"Uuuuhhhf," said Puy putting his hand on Lawler's shoulder, "it's a long time since I…" he stopped breathless.

"You're not very fit for a pirate…" said Lawler, "I expected more from you…"

"Yes, ah, well, you can do the fit bit for both of us…"

"Hang on." Muttered Lawler, he went over to Alistair who was looking at both of them with some interest.

"I need a moment…"

Alistair looked over Lawler's head at Puy and said, "That's fine…"

Lawler went back to Puy who was staring at Alistair. "He is, isn't he?" said Puy gabbling excitedly, "He's him, the fucking King of fucking Ferelden… I don't believe it… I…"

Lawler frogmarched him behind some crates. "I'm so lucky, I just won a bet, I…"

"Is that why you were chasing me or were you chasing Alistair?"

"No, no, I was chasing _you_… But then I realised... He looks different off the ship…"

"Puy…"

But Puy was already kissing him.

"I guess I deserved that…" said Lawler.

"There's lots more where that came from. Don't leave me…"

"You're the sailor… Love in every port and all that…" said Lawler grinning.

"No, only here, only here in Denerim…" Puy replied earnestly.

Lawler patted his cheek, "I have to go and I'm going to be busy for the rest of the day, sorting _him_ out… I'm, well, I'm not quite sure what I am, sparring partner? Bodyguard? Confidant? Jack of all trades…"

"Factotum…"

"You do rub it in, don't you? I mean this Trevinter education thing…"

"Well, if you've got it…" said Puy.

"There's a tavern call the Wheel of Fortune…" Lawler gave him quick directions. "It's in the poorest area… By the river, the nasty bit of it. I'll see you there at around eight. On second thoughts, it's a bit rough so perhaps you should, wait outside… _Pirate._"

"I'll be there…"

"Good. Now I have to go…"

"Does he..."

"No. More complications."

"See you this evening then and… Uh, good luck…"

Lawler went back to Alistair.

"What was…"

"Later."

* * *

Alistair leaned back in the round marble bath, "I missed this. Isabela had a bath but the water was quite cold. The only good thing was that a couple of times Isabela got in it with me…"

"'Fraid I can't compare to Isabela." Said Lawler slipping in opposite him.

"Well…" Said Alistair, because until then Lawler had always staunchly refused to share a bath, so much so that Alistair had long ago stopped asking.

From the other side of the tub Lawler glared at him, "Do you know the effort I had to put into finding you…"

"I am sorry…"

"Couldn't you have sent a message or something?"

Alistair snorted, "What would I have said: 'Sorry, currently cavorting with a pirate captain on her ship, see you in a few days time…'?"

"That may have been helpful…"

"You know, I really didn't have the presence of mind…"

Lawler sat back a bit further and glowered some more.

"Look, I've already said I'm sorry… Several times. I mean it…"

"I actually tracked you down a few days ago but I decided to allow you to stay for a few days more…" Lawler muttered.

"Well, I'm very grateful… Running away like that may not have been the best thing to do, all things considered, but it helped… Where were you?"

"Most of the time, with Isabela's crew…"

"That guy on the docks, he was from her crew…"

"Yes."

"He seemed… Isabela's crew are…" Alistair sudden realised that there was not really a polite term for it in Fereldan. The expression 'deviant' kept suggesting itself and indeed, he had called Zev just that many times. Zev who seemed to wear it as a badge of honour, but Lawler? It didn't fit Lawler at all… Aware he had been silent for several seconds, he shrugged picked up the soap and began to lather his shoulders and arms. "Well…"

"Well what?" said Lawler abruptly. He almost seemed to be spoiling for a fight and Alistair did not quite comprehend why.

"Well, what I was going to say…" he said very carefully, "Is that most of them, seemed to be the type of men who like other men for… Well, you know…" he looked away.

Lawler breathed in deeply, "That's why I fitted right in…"

"Right," said Alistair, over-concentrating on the lathering, "right."

"Were you going to say anything else?"

Alistair looked up, "Lawler… I've always liked you…"

"What does that mean…"

"What it means, Lawler, exactly what it means…" Suddenly Alistair found the floodgates opening, "I've always liked you and I still do. Believe me, please, when I say I'm sorry for what happened this week and I am grateful for all the trouble you went to… You've never been judgmental of my personal choices, and Maker knows I haven't always made the best ones, especially recently, so I seen no reason to be critical of yours. You are as you are… and I am not sure there is more to say except that I hope this doesn't change anything between us…"

Lawler slumped back and closed his eyes for a while. When he opened them he seemed much calmer.

"Alistair, just so we're clear on something, pull another one like this week's and I'll be seeking employment elsewhere… As for the other thing… I didn't exactly want it to come out like it did, and that's why I was getting angry… but it's probably for the best."

Alistair stood up and began to lather the rest of himself standing rather awkwardly to one side. "Seems fair enough…"

"Do you want a hand?" asked Lawler.

"Oh bog off…" Alistair paused, "what exactly did Anora tell you, Lawler?"

"That one of the letters was about your mother, who had apparently passed away a few years ago, and that the other was actually _from_ your mother…"

Alistair pulled himself out of the bath, "As I expected she didn't tell you the half of it… Which was good of her, in a way … When you finish here, and there's no need to rush, come and see me in my room… " He paused shaking his head, "Andraste's love… Is everything going to have a second, unintended, meaning from now onwards?"

* * *

When Lawler eventually got to his room he found Alistair sitting on the bed with his mother's letter in his hand, his eyes were slightly red.

"Here take this." Alistair handed him a cup of wine. "Fifteen years old, Orleisian, we don't seem to have any Antivan… Need to change that. Anyway, let's hope it's not past it…"

Lawler sniffed the wine and then took a polite sip.

"Not much of a drinker, are you?" Alistair took a mouthful of his and swished it around a bit and then swallowed, "Hmmm… Could be better. Still, at least it survived the Blight, like us…"

He put the wine cup down and picked up the letter again.

"What was she, I mean your mother, called?" asked Lawler.

"Fiona, apparently. Nice name. Kind of sweet."

"The letter's in Orlesian?"

"That's right…"

"So she was…"

"Orlesian. Yes. But that's not the half of it…"

"What do you mean?"

"She was a Grey Warden…"

"That's a bit of a coincidence…"

"Except that when you look at it in more depth, it's no coincidence at all… She was a friend of Duncan's, the Grey Warden who recruited me. They both came to Ferelden from Orlais with some other wardens towards the end of DA 9:06. My father joined them, apparently, in some madcap expedition to the Deep Roads, where I was conceived… Imagine that, my parents… at it in the Deep Roads, just like Neriya and I…" He sounded confused.

Lawler glanced at Neriya's picture at the foot of the bed where they were both sitting.

"Oh she started to unravel all this herself" said Alistair following his gaze. "But you see, after the expedition Duncan and my mother, the sole survivors of the Wardens returned to Orlais. About a year later, they both visited my father in Denerim and handed me over to him. Duncan then agreed to take me to Redcliffe and Arl Eamon's where I grew up. I guess he kept an eye on me and then decided to recruit me when I was about twenty-three. I don't know why, exactly, I don't know whether he asked my mother… I was flattered at the time, I thought he saw something in me… But I now suspect it was just to deliver me from the grip of the Chantry. Not that I'm not grateful to him for that, but…"

"And it's not like you've proven yourself more than worthy of being recruited since, by, oh, I don't know… slaying an Archdemon…" said Lawler, "Alistair, sometimes you need to look at things a little differently… It's not always all about you, and you are not always… Rubbish. Just sometimes. Like the rest of us."

"Well, thank you, ha, ha... so only sometimes, eh? Another drink?"

"Alistair, I haven't finished this one and it's barely midday…"

"You're not going to make me drink this alone, are you? I need some company here."

Lawler tipped up his cup and swallowed, "There, happy?"

"Lawler, that's not the way… Anyway, here's more… Try and savour this a bit." He poured him another cup.

"Next thing, Lawler. She was a mage…"

"A mage."

"Drink."

"I'm drinking…" They both drank. Alistair poured the last cups from the bottle.

"Anyway, mages are not supposed to keep their babies, Lawler…"

"Why not?"

"Well mages, tend to come of mages…"

"But you're no mage…"

"I'm certainly not… but magic doesn't often usually manifest itself until puberty, until, the mage is a young adult… Imagine two mages in one household, Lawler, who don't get on… And also, mages might be protective of their children, like the rest of us. Imagine what a mage would do to protect his or her child… Finally, if magic develops before reason… I mean there was Connor, Eamon's mage child, his mother thought she could keep him under wraps; he ended up doing a deal with a demon who took full advantage of his innocence and flooding Redcliffe with undead. Nearly destroyed the whole village…

So, it's terribly cruel, but female mages are usually parted from their kiddies at or shortly after birth, when they can't put up a fight. Outside of that, whenever a mage child is found they're taken to the nearest circle immediately. Sometimes female mages agree to give up their babies, like my mother did…"

He paused and took a mouthful of wine. "Forgot to say, I brought up two bottles." Using his teeth he uncorked the next one with a pop and poured for them both. "Drink. Finish, more… I need at least three more drinks before this next bit…"

They drank in silence until Alistair had managed to clear the requisite three… He then let himself flop back on to the bed, clasping the empty cup to his chest.

"So what's this last thing then?" Asked Lawler.

"She was an elf…" whispered Alistair.

"What?" said Lawler.

"SHE WAS AN ELF…"

There was a rather long pause. "Makerandrastebugger…" said Lawler and drained his cup in one go, looking at Neriya's picture again.

"That's about the long and the short of it…" Alistair started laughing and then giggling… "It's funny really… Did you know my father, the great bloody King Maric, had an Elven lover, Katriel, during our glorious war of independence against Orlais, before he met Fiona?

You didn't? Well, guess what? He killed her, Lawler. KILLED HER. Drove his nice, sparkly, sharp sword right through her, one fine day. 'Good morning, darling, ooops… You're dead!' No accident, though, apparently this was all in aid of impressing his bestest friend at the time, a certain Loghain. Andraste, when I first heard that, I was really sorta even gladder I chopped Loghain's head off for him at the Landsmeet, the bastard.

Then Maric goes and conceives _me_ with another elf, but did not consider making an honourable woman out of her or recognising me, despite already being a widower. At that point, his human wife, Rowan Guerrin, Cailan's mother, had died, see… Cailan, of course, went on to marry Loghain's daughter, Anora dearest, but it seems he also carried on a bit on the side. Maker knows what would come out if I were to look further into that…" He levered himself up, "More wine…"

He held out his cup to Lawler, who, fascinated, refilled it without quibbling. "And, oh yeah, finally me… I married Loghain's daughter, the same one that was married to my half brother, after chopping off his head, I mean Loghain's, but carried on with an elf whom I haven't married and who's given me a sweet child…" He paused. "The Theirin male line, eh?… What a bunch of sick, sick, sad little tarts we all are..."

"That's… Quite a story."

"It is, isn't it? So that's why I ran away and spent a week buffing a fit pirate captain. Trying to get that lot out of my head for a while… That and the fact that Fiona's dead so I'll never meet her, in this world at least… Wine." Lawler poured. "And bloody good Isabela was too, for a human… 'To Isabela! Bottoms up…'"

"To Isabela…"

"So have you ever done a woman?"

"Oh I've 'done' _women_, yes, more than one, as you have so delicately put it, it's just I prefer men…"

"And I don't understand that…" said Alistair looking at his emptied cup.

"And I don't understand what's so special about wine, it's just here to make you pissed, isn't it?" said Lawler, filling the cup again.

"If I have to explain…"

"If I have to explain about men…"

"I feel another toast coming on…" said Alistair, "… to our areas of mutual incomprehension…"

"To our areas of mutual incompre… Sod it…"

"And long may they exist."

"You know, Alistair, you really ought to find out what Bregeth has to say about this elf stuff…"


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Dragon 9:34

Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

Bregeth's precise words were, "Welcome to the Elvhenan, shem…" said with a sassy smile, shortly after opening the door and as she bundled Niamh into his arms the next day.

"I see Lawler's already been around with the news…"

"He's trying to be helpful…"

"I know. And he is. How's my beautiful today…" He said holding Niamh up in the air in front of him as he walked into the parlour, "I think she's giggling… She must have noticed that daddy has a funny face or is incredibly hung over…"

"I wouldn't put it past her…"

Alistair sat down at the little parlour table, he teased Niamh for a while she seemed to have developed a knack for chasing his fingers, attempting to grip them and then he said. "This elf thing…"

"Yes?"

"I don't know what to think…"

"It must be confusing to have all the assumptions you've made about yourself suddenly challenged."

Alistair sighed "It's not the first time it's happened to me, but this time… I don't think 'confusing' even begins to describe it… Tell me something… Are humans with Elven blood the same as humans without Elven blood?"

"There are different views, I believe. Most humans who have thought about it have concluded that there is no difference. Me? I think shemlens love to fool themselves by concocting clear dividing lines between themselves and the rest of the beings in Thedas."

"So…"

"The answer is in your question, you're a human with Elven blood…"

"But I look human, I walk like a human, I drink like a human…"

"Elves can drink too, you know. But those are all externals… I think you should look a little deeper. Are you just what you appear to be or are you more than that?"

He sighed, "I should have known better than to get into this type of conversation with you today… I would say that I am more than what I would appear to be, but then I might just be another shem deluding himself…"

"Suppose I were to tell you that if you or Niamh were just run-of-the-mill shems, I would not be here nursing her?"

"But is that true?" He asked lightly riffling Niamh's fluffy blond hair.

Bregeth sighed, "I can tell…"

"You can tell what?"

"I can tell when a shem has Elven blood…"

"Really?"

"You… there's an aura… Oh, I don't know how to explain it… Other Dalish would dispute this, you know. Humans aren't the only ones to console themselves thinking that they're unique, special and somehow 'chosen'…"

"Is that why you had that disagreement with the Keeper…"

"It was one of the reasons, yes. We may not be special but we are complex, there's no denying that…"

"So what do I do? What do I do with Niamh, here?"

"You do nothing, just be as you are. Nothing has changed, this is part of yourself that has always been there and which you have lived with. Sometimes you may know things without them being wholly spelled out, feelings, emotions and such… Pay attention to that. As for Niamh, I'll tell you what to do with her… Oh, you thought I'd set aside my insufferable arrogance? Think again…"

"Yes, I was almost beginning to miss that... One other thing, what do we do if Niamh sets your hair alight one day… Both her mother and her grandmother…"

"First, I'd put it out, of course… What do you think _you_ should do?"

He pulled Niamh close to him and embraced her very tightly. From within his arms, Niamh looked up at Bregeth, with an almost confused expression on her little face, the Elven woman smiled down at her and touched her cheek to reassure her.

"I'd have to take her to Kinloch Hold, hand her over to the Templars… I think my heart would break… Hope she can be trained and survives the harrowing… I would never abandon her, though, I would write and visit. I would ask Eamon for advice, he's been through the same, Connor is thriving now, apparently… Perhaps I should appoint one of the mages to act as her guardian, Wynn, say, keep an eye on her, keep me informed…

"Alistair, that was actually very cruel of me… I wanted to know what you would say, if you would consider treating your daughter any differently from anyone else's…"

"But we don't know do we? That might still happen…"

"Niamh is no mage, Alistair, I can tell… She's a scrappy little fighter just like her father…" Bregeth smiled. "I do so like fighters…"

"How can you be so sure of these things? How can you be so sure… Not even the Grand Cleric claims to be infallible…"

"Yes, but she isn't Dalish… At the end of the day you're just going to have to take my word for it, aren't you?" She got up, "I think I have some broth over from yesterday, Lawler certainly likes it, perhaps it will help your head?"

"It's strange to see you so domesticated…"

"It's strange to see the wastrel King of Fereldan dandling an infant on his lap…"

She busied herself in the kitchen for a while and came out with a small steaming bowl which she put on the table in front of him. He handed her Niamh and picked it up with both hands and took a sip. Bregeth sat opposite him, pulled open her blouse and began breastfeeding Niamh. "Feeding time for Theirins…"

"It's not bad," Alistair said, "not bad at all, actually. Now the stuff Isabela gave me…"

"About that…"

"Oh, _that_… inexcusable." Alistair said quickly, "Utterly inexcusable."

"Sometimes you behave like a schoolboy attempting to escape punishment… but did it occur to you that you were running from news about your mother, and that your first impulse was to run to a woman old enough and experienced enough to be your mother…"

"Not my first impulse… My first impulse was to drink myself senseless, my second impulse…"

Bregeth did not seem overly impressed by the distinction, "I am not going to tell you as others no doubt do, not to do such things, because you are still young, although that excuse will quickly run out… But if you do these things, you should try, at least, to learn from them and begin to discern the patterns in your own behaviour…"

"Why?" Asked Alistair sounding tired.

"Because such an appreciation may give you wisdom and insight not only into your own conduct, but into that of others. It may be useful. It might even give you the tools with which to master such impulses, should there come a time when you wish to do so… Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Oh yes…"

"Did you learn anything?"

"Yes." He sighed.

"Then that's all to the good, isn't it?"

* * *

Later that day he went to tie up the one loose end. Anora had an audience apparently, so he waited as patiently as he could outside her chamber. When her visitor came out he went into the room. She was quietly making a note.

"Anora…"

She frowned up at him, perhaps she was wondering why he had dropped his usual "My dear".

"Thank you." He said "I think I owe you something, too. Here." He slid a bag containing one hundred and one gold sovereigns over the table.

Anora nodded and took it mutely. "I hope you are feeling better…" she said as she did so, and then, "It was a woman, wasn't it?"

She knew better than that, of course, but he thought she was giving him a way out. For once he took it gratefully and smiling said, "Well, you know me…"

"We have a meeting on Wednesday afternoon. Don't forget."

"Have I ever?"

"No." replied Anora, "I can't say that you have."

"Well, I obviously have some preparation to do…"

"Until Wednesday."

"Wednesday it is…"

* * *

That evening, Alistair went back to his room and picked up the letter once again. _Will I ever be able to read this without weeping?_ He asked himself.

_Dear Alistair,_

_I have written this letter and passed it to the current Commander of the Grey in Orlais to be passed on to you following my death but only should you ever request more information about yourself from the order. I have no desire to disrupt your life should you have chosen to move on and not dwell on what is past._

_I should begin by saying that I am sorry I left you, but I am sure by now you have some knowledge of how these things work and can understand that as both a mage and a Grey Warden, I had little choice. That, of course, does not make it any less painful for you and I regret deeply ever having caused you pain._

_Dear Alistair, it may come as a shock to you but I am a member of the Elvhenan diaspora. I was born in Val Royeaux sometime around BA 8:87 and never knew my father. My mother died when I was about seven years old of a broken heart and overwork, my childhood died with her._

_My human master, a Count no less, took me very quickly to his bed in preference to his wife, the ever-tired mother of his four children. He also took pleasure in inflicting other kinds of abuse on me. Throughout my life, it has never ceased to amaze me that many humans can find my people so intimately attractive but among themselves, and in front of other humans, treat us with such disdain, hatred and depravity._

_I am aware, as I write this, that you may have no sympathy whatsoever with this point of view. If that were to be the case, it would, perhaps, make me sadder for you than anything else I can think of. However, if you have managed to read thus far without crumpling my letter up into a little ball and tossing it on the fire, take courage; there is hope for us yet, because nothing I can tell from now onwards could hurt you more than what I have set out just above._

_My magic ability was my salvation. Many mages criticise the circles, I know, for depriving them of their freedom and their right to determine their own fates, but sometimes such institutions can be a shelter for those that are less fortunate and this should not be overlooked. When the Templars at last came for me at the age of ten, never did a fledgling mage follow them with a lighter heart…_

_But for all that, Alistair, as a young woman I was angry, suspicious and wayward and caused my teachers and betters in the circle much grief. So much so that once I had mastered the required magical disciplines, attained a basic level of education and passed my harrowing, it was determined that some practical use should be made of these less desirable traits and I was offered a position with the Grey Wardens. I leapt at the opportunity because I was becoming tired of my confinement within the circle and wished to have some taste of independence, even if it came at what some would think a high price. In order to become a Grey Warden you have to accept the taint into your body, the essence of the darkspawn, and this is not without some consequences. I must say that I never regretted my decision. The Grey Wardens respected and cherished what mages they had in their ranks and for the first time in my life, I felt valued, if not loved._

_So that was how eventually, I came to Ferelden with a group of Grey Wardens at the head of which was the then Commander of the Grey in Orlais herself, one Genevieve. A fellow companion of about my years was Duncan with whom I am sure your are familiar. In all likelihood there must be records somewhere of the purpose and outcome of our quest, should you wish to find out more. All I can now say is that the older I get, the greater folly it seems. The important thing is that this is how I came to meet your father. Yes, King Maric decided to come along on this madcap excursion of ours._

_If you must know, I hated him on sight. He was male, human and a noble to boot. Everything I had come to loathe and distrust. That he was undoubtedly good looking and charming did not endear him any more to me. I provoked him mercilessly and with impunity as only a younger woman can an older man. There were several confrontations between us, but throughout he remained dignified, good-humoured and patient._

_Meanwhile things came to a head in Orzammar, those of us that were not already dead were convinced that we would be shortly following our fallen companions to the Fade. Such situations tend to concentrate the mind, especially if you are young. Fear made me realise that my animosity towards your father was nothing but a perverse alteration of my attraction to him. He, on the other hand, had always found me attractive and was not concerned, at that stage of his life, with hiding the truth from himself. We made love, several times, in those dusty unpleasant vaults, not a new experience for me, but he surprised me with his relative innocence. He seemed incapable of consummating the act without feeling and expressing deep affection, telling me that I was beautiful and that he desired me; nor did he attempt to hide his feelings from others, both things very much caught me unawares, given what had gone before._

_In time, our pointless quest came to an end and only I, Duncan and your father survived. He returned to his palace in Denerim and I resumed my life in Orlais. I believe we both tacitly recognised that our backgrounds were too diverse for us to succeed as a couple, furthermore, I had my duties, he had his. In all truthfulness, I did not expect to set eyes on him again._

_A few months after my return I discovered I was pregnant. Dear Alistair, since we will now never meet, the very least I can offer you is the truth. I was not happy. I took stock of my situation and considered my options. You should know that your birth was the result of a conscious choice on my part. In the end, I judged that the very fact I had conceived you was so extraordinary that I could not deny you the chance to exist, even if I had to give you up. I also bore in mind the considerable fondness between myself and your father. My pregnancy and your birth were not easy things, but when at last I held you in my arms I knew I had never seen anything so fragile or so beautiful. The surge of love I felt for you was an entirely new emotion for me and endures even to this day._

_I was not naïve, I know few men welcome illegitimate children especially if they are kings, but I had faith in your father's goodness and he did not let us down. In fact, he seemed quite besotted with you, almost as besotted as myself. Discreet arrangements were made for your upbringing and I trusted both your father and Duncan to ensure that you were looked after._

_Why, you may ask me, did you not do this yourself? Because I knew that if I ever had the chance to hold you again, I would never be able to let you go. It was best for us both that I did not know where you were. As it is, even without seeing you or having anything to remind me of you, I still think about you every day. It is a very physical thing, it is as if my body still imagines you are part of it and it knows it will never be complete or feel complete in your absence. I have had to resist countless times throughout my life the impulse to drop everything I know, break every vow I have made, and seek you out._

_Every now and then Duncan writes to me and reassures me that you are well, he has told me you are a comely, healthy lad, quite well developed, have blond hair and hazel eyes, like your father, who you resemble, and a somewhat cheeky attitude that, he says, reminds him of me. He knows better than to give me more detailed information about you…_

_Now I should come to the circumstances in which I write this. It seems that a Blight has started in Ferelden. I have not had direct news from Ducan for months, I assume he is desperately attempting to recruit Wardens there in order to fight it. As if this were not bad enough, I hear that the political situation is unstable mainly because the young monarchs have been unable to produce a child and the youthful king is chafing under the authority of his father-in-law. As you can imagine, I see all sorts of danger awaiting you in this fraught situation._

_Two weeks ago I went to the current Commander of the Grey in Orlais, a good friend of mine, Quentin du Plessis and begged him on my knees to allow me to form part of the Grey Warden contingent preparing to cross the frontier into Ferelden. Alistair, he refused, firstly because he is aware of my history and afraid that my concern for you would undermine my duty as a Grey Warden and, secondly, because he knows I am near my Calling, though lately, I have tried my best to hide it._

_The Calling is the eventual toll that the taint inflicts on all Grey Wardens. It first takes the form of auditory, then olfactory and, finally, visual delusions. There is also a physical side to it, though this often lags several months behind the psychological symptoms. At one point in my life, shortly after giving birth to you, it was thought that the taint in me had gone into remission, but, finally, that proved not to be the case, and, as with Duncan, the taint soon reasserted itself. It has been a very long time since I have been able to get a full night's sleep and the waking nightmares seem to be getting ever more frequent, intense and frightening. Most of the time now I feel unbelievably tired, frail and on edge. A destruction mage hearing and seeing things that are not there is a great danger to herself and to her companions, so whereas I cannot but help hating Quentin for his decision, I fully understand his reasons for it._

_Enough at last of me, I grow weary of myself and my self-pity._

_If you are reading this sometime in the future, there is hope, hope for a new life and a new Thedas. I believed I was doing the right thing when I handed you over to your father and asked that you be brought up as human, that your Elven heritage should be set aside. I do have my doubts about that now, but there is no remedying it. My child, if you are capable of accepting these tidings and forgiving your mother for her many, many failings towards you, then you will be all the stronger for it._

_Never forget that you were conceived through an act of love between a woman born a chattel and a King, an elf and a human, if such things can happen, then there is always the possibility that a better world awaits us all sometime in the future, Elvhenan and Human alike. I can only hope you or your own children live to see it._

_As for me, I am sure my thoughts will always be with you, even in the Fade._

_Your loving mother_

_Fiona_

Since there were still tears streaming down his face when he had finished reading the letter for this, the upteenth time, the answer had to be _No_ or at the very least, _Not yet_.

He put the letter to one side and the covering letter from the current Orleisian Commander of the Grey with it. He would have to write him a letter of thanks within the next few days, he thought, and perhaps request more information about Fiona. The idea occurred to him that maybe somewhere there would be records or a summary of the lives of at least the most notable wardens. In any event, there was no harm in asking.

In setting them aside, he noticed a third, much shorter letter had been lying under them. Oh, yes, Lady Cousland's letter. He remembered crumpling it up and throwing it on the floor, but apparently someone had gone to the trouble of picking it up, straightening it and leaving it under the others. Well, since it was here, he might as well read it again.

He reached the same conclusion as before, she didn't quite seem to be aware of… a number of things. On the other hand, perhaps because he was in a better mood now, what she was suggesting sounded like it could be, well, fun. He wondered, idly, what impulses lay behind _her_ behaviour.

He sighed, so much work, yet another letter to write, the Wednesday meeting and all the preparation for it, audiences, Bann Ceorlic, then, finally, for his sins, Orzammar...


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Dragon 9:33 Solis/Solace to Dragon 9:34 Verimensis/Wintermarch

Orlesian Heartlands, near Montsimmard/Val Royeaux [About a year and a half ago]

"So," said Konrad, "Allow me to summarize what you have told me... Riordan only informed Alistair and you on the eve of what was going to be the final campaign against the darkspawn in Ferelden of the fact that the Grey Warden who made the final blow against the archdemon would necessarily loose his or her life..."

"Is it not more than that, Konrad?" interjected Neriya, "Even Riordan... It would appear that Grey Warden tradition says it is not just mortality but the Warden's soul itself that is destroyed..."

"Do you believe in souls, Neriya?"

"I... I do not know... but Alistair was a Templar so a soul..."

"Spoken like a true mage... We manipulate matter and that which lays one step beyond, some call that energy. A few of us may even operate beyond that, but it is not certain. Warriors usually only know the realm of matter and, naturally, the concept of a soul comes easier to them than it does to us."

"The point I was making is that the destruction may go beyond the level of simple matter..."

"And you both found that particularly disturbing..."

"Yes we did, and... Frightening... We were young; we are both still young..."

"And this maleficar, this Morrigan, took full advantage of that..."

"If it had been I alone or Alistair alone, she would have had no leverage. Individually we both had a sense of duty that could withstand such inducements... but Alistair feared for me and me for him..."

"But you see, Neriya, that relationship was, in itself, improper and you both entered it with eyes open knowing that it was wrong..."

"You could equally blame the extraordinary circumstances in which it happened for the relationship, Konrad. The fact that we were both immature, inexperienced and attracted to each other, and the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden, until we came upon Riordan, none of which was of either of our making, but simple fate.

The fact that even then there were only the three of us, THREE OF US, Konrad, facing the entire horde. If we were part of a division of wardens, or even a slightly larger group, just five or six, say, our relationship would have had no bearing and Morrigan no purchase... Equally..."

"Ah, Neriya, we should have had this conversation a few years ago..."

"We weren't talking a few years ago; There was no dialogue. You had us both under interrogation..."

"I admit I was heavy-handed and that was a mistake..." He looked away for a moment and took another sip from his tankard, "But why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I am going to have a child, Alistair's, because Morrigan is still out there also with a child, also Alistair's but..."

"According to what she told you, also a potential untainted old god... Whatever that means and if she was telling you the truth... Possibly something worse, possibly even another incarnation of the archdemon you thought you had slain..."

Neriya bowed her head and sighed, "Yes, that is the long and the short of it..."

"What is Alistair's position on all this?"

"This is not his confession, it is mine. If you feel that measures should be taken, take them only against me. If you think a price should be paid, exact it only from me."

"I am dying, Neriya, I have been sidelined from any position of responsibility in the Grey Wardens, which is as it should be... Nighttimes are the worst, should you come by this place then, you will hear me howling and screaming in fear... Even Nana finds it disturbing and she has known me since I was a child... The taint is merciless... It is strange how it seems to be taking me back to my childhood. I do not deny that I still have some influence, but perhaps even there I may be humouring myself..."

"You need to be clear with me, Konrad, before I share any confidence other than my own with you. Alistair is, was my lover, he has shown me only affection and respect, and I owe him my life and more than once... He is the King of Ferelden and I have every conviction he is a good one... He is the father of my unborn child..."

A sad expression crossed Konrad's face, "If only I could see my orchards... But at least on a day like this I can smell the trees in bloom on the breeze, feel the sun on my skin, hear the bees buzzing amongst the blossoms and taste the cider..."

"Konrad..."

"I swear by what remains of my life that no harm will come to either you or Alistair should you choose to confide in me. I will divulge what you tell me to no-one..."

"Alistair... It is difficult for him, more difficult than for me, because he was directly involved in the act itself. I can assure you he had no love or respect for that woman. They were, in fact, at each other's throats from the time they first met, hated each other almost on sight... I think she used that ritual of hers to debase him... For the most part, he has been unable to speak of it, even to me.

After what happened between them in Redcliffe we were not intimate for several months, I believe you picked up on that in your interrogations... Another humiliation for him. It has driven a wedge between us both...

Nevertheless, he is no fool, he is aware of what you and I have just discussed, he simply does not wish to confront it... At least yet...

Add to that the fact that he now carries responsibility for an entire kingdom on his back... A responsibility I in no small part encouraged him to take on..."

Konrad sighed, "What do you want from me, Neriya?"

"Tell me what to do..."

Konrad smiled, "Why that is easy, go back to Denerim, return to Alistair's side, bear his child, be a good mother and companion to him, assist him in what you can..."

Neriya stiffened.

Konrad laughed a rather sad laugh "Blind as I am, I can sense you bristling from over here, Neriya, so you don't want me to tell you what to do... But what _you_ want to do... They are different things, little elf..."

"Don't patronize me, Konrad..."

"It was not my intention to offend. However, you are out of the tower now and the Blight has been quelled, at least for the time being. You have left your lover."

Neriya went to interrupt, Konrad picked that up, "Don't quibble about that, it's what you've done, whatever excuses you may be telling yourself now... The time has come for you to start working out what you want to do and who the hell you are... No one can do that for you. At least it seems you have recognised what you do not want to do... That's a beginning of sorts... And you seem to have decided to have the child..."

"Yes, I don't know how we conceived this child against all odds. It deserves to survive..."

"You also need to make some decisions regarding the child then... You can't be an active Grey Warden and a mother... Harsh but there it is. Can I suggest something?"

"By all means..."

"We both need to sleep on these things. Come back tomorrow, you have lodgings I presume, you and this companion you came with?"

"Yes..."

"Well that's good..." He took another swallow from the mug, "You don't know what you're missing... _Au revoir_, then, Neriya."

Cullivan was sipping from an identical mug and seemed be engaged in conversation with an old woman who had more wrinkles than Neriya hairs on her head, Nana, probably.

He put the mug down as soon as he saw Neriya and turned to the elder. "Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, Madam, that was delicious..."

Nana nodded amiably.

"She believes that visiting elves bring luck, it is an old superstition hereabouts, that I have heard of before..." Cullivan muttered to Neriya once they were out of earshot, "I wonder how it started? In any event it's better than being pelted with stones and that cider was excellent..."

Neriya was silent.

"So are we done here?" asked Cullivan.

"I will be returning tomorrow..."

"He did not invite us to stay?" Cullivan seemed slightly offended.

"He is in the final stages of the calling Cullivan, he suffers from waking nightmares and they are worse at night, I would not want to stay, even should he invite me..."

"Why?"

"Don't be such a fool; we would not sleep if we were to stay... And I do not wish to see the worst of the calling just yet, because in time it is what will happen to me... and Alistair... I am not yet ready to face that..."

"_Lethallan..._"

"Cullivan, don't..."

"I am sorry for you..."

"Don't be, I do what I have to do..."

"Is this mage helping you?"

"He says I need to make decisions in respect of my child and myself..."

Cullivan snorted, "_Lethallan, _I am not a mage yet I have been telling you this for weeks but you have not heeded me..."

"Cullivan..."

"Listen to what our gods tell us on the roles you can assume..."

"'Our gods', Cullivan, you mean the gods of the Dalish..."

"I mean the gods that care about elves..."

"Even flat eared shemlovers?"

"You judge me too harshly, Neriya..._"_

"Your words, Cullivan, not mine or as good as."

* * *

After a frugal supper, they retired to their chamber, Cullivan to the foot of the bed and Neriya to the bed itself. From the early days he had said something about needing to be in contact with the earth when sleeping, when Neriya pointed out that he was not, in fact, in contact with the earth but the second floor of an inn, and that being the case, might as well use a bed, he had merely shrugged it off.

"So tell me about these gods of ours, Cullivan..."

"Neriya, in my view, and I am no _hahren_ or Keeper, but you need to choose between Andruil and Sylaise... Andruil is the patroness of the path you have travelled until now, that of the huntress, the one who provides for the Elvhenan through her strength and skill. Hers is the three ways, the _Vir Tanadahl_ or Way of Three Trees. First, the _Vir Assan_, or Way of the Arrow: fly straight and do not waver. You did this when fighting the scourge that was the Blight by becoming a Grey Warden, because the aim of the Grey Wardens is only one and clear, like the straight flight of a well-shot arrow, to end Blights.

Second, the _Vir Bor'assan_: bend but never break. You were just a mage but became a leader, you left the tower and became a Grey Warden, and you are an elf but mixed with other beings to achieve the one end...

Third, the _Vir Adahlen_, or Way of the Forest: together we are stronger than the one, this speaks for itself, I think, only by combining the talents of many different individuals from different races and backgrounds could the Blight be defeated.

Sylaise, on the other hand is the hearth keeper, the one who gave our ancestors fire, healing, weaving and the arts of assisting in childbirth. She keeps us safe and warm and gives us a place of shelter, of great importance to a displaced people. She too has skills but they are those of creation and preservation rather than destruction... When you give birth, it should be to her that you call to assist you...

So that is your choice, _Lethallan_, Andruil or Sylaise, they are both equally worthy..."

* * *

They returned to the little house the following day. Nana was outside feeding some hens, Cullivan went to speak with her but came back shaking his head.

"He can't see us today, he had a very bad night...," he said.

"One day more..." commented Neriya.

"So what, _Lethallan_? It is not as if you could or should go chasing that woman in the wilds in your current condition, I would advise that you should keep near to civilization..."

As they made their way back to the village, Neriya suddenly blurted out, "I am so frightened."

"What of?" Asked Cullivan.

"Of this..." She ran her hand over her bulging abdomen. "Of being torn apart when the baby..."

Cullivan said nothing but his face darkened. "Let's sit here for a moment," he said pointing to some rocks, "...and discuss this." Once they had made themselves comfortable he said, "I will be with you..."

"Thank you but..."

Looking to the middle distance, he said, "I will do what I can for you..."

That made her blood run cold, the fact that he did not meet her eyes or say everything would be all right or that he would save her, "I need to make a choice, don't I? In case things don't go so well..."

"I did not want to bring this up until later, Neriya. You are new to this. But whatever your choice is, I will respect it. It is better that you tell me now, beforehand, while you are well, but should your mind change during the process, try to communicate with me. You are free to alter your wishes, I will defer to the last thing you have told me and ensure that those in attendance on you act in accordance with that, too."

"Have you seen this before, Cullivan, have you...?"

"Have I attended a birth? Yes, a few times."

She did not enquire whether they had gone well or badly but got the impression that there had been a bit of both.

* * *

The following day, she accepted half a mug of cider, took a deep swallow, looked at Konrad who was noticeably frailer, and said.

"I wish to have this child but I also wish to continue to be an active Grey Warden..."

"Are you sure?" asked Konrad, "that seems to be one of the most difficult choices to me..."

"I think it is the right one, if I were to give up so much of my life to be its mother... I might as well go back to the tower or return to Denerim as Alistair's lover..."

"It is important that you do what is suited to you and not what others say you should..." He shook his head, "Look at me, in my youth I trained to be a fighter, I had the passion and the aggression, too, if not the skill, and then, magic found me. Healing magic. I hated it, the passivity standing at the back with all the others protecting me, but I was persuaded by those who I thought wiser, to channel all my efforts into that.

I am a good healer, powerful, I have saved many lives, but I have never been happy in myself. I feel I was meant for other things... Eventually my pent up frustration found an unfortunate outlet... Leading to my becoming a Grey Warden. I have been content with the order, but I think, I would have been far happier as a mediocre warrior than I am as an accomplished healer... and now... Enough of me... How can I assist you?"

"Give me a mission..."

"Very well. You should chase down this Morrigan, this maleficar, and seek to establish the nature of this child of hers... It seems to me that that accords with our motto of vigilance in peace. Nevertheless, I would advise you should distance yourself and Alistair from its conception. I will write to the regional commander and say that you have heard this tale as a well-founded rumour and that I and you both are convinced it needs to be looked into. You are, after all, the hero of Ferelden, a true Blight queller; you should be accorded some credibility and status...

But first, have your own child... The Order will make provision for you. I recommend you go to Val Royeaux where facilities are better... We can also look for a good home for it..."

"No." Said Neriya quietly, "No there is only one person I will entrust this child to..."

Konrad bowed his head, "I was hoping you would say that. It is strange the patterns some things in life make... Not so long ago one of the most respected members of the Grey Wardens in Orlais was a female Elven destruction mage..."

"Her name was Fiona..."

"That is correct... I did some research upon my return from Ferelden; it is a curious tale... That seems to be repeating itself..."

"You said when we first spoke that nothing good would come of this..."

"I am no prophet or fortune teller, just a poor healer mage. I dislike patterns, I dislike them a great deal... But I suggest you should pay me no heed."

"What of you?"

"The Order has arranged, at my request, for a physician to visit me in a few days time... I hope he or she likes cider."

"A physician?" Neriya was confused.

"Times change Neriya, what would _I_ do in the deep roads, bat the darkspawn over the head with my healer's staff? Blind as I now am..." He drank, sighed and then removed his Grey Warden pendent from around his neck, "Take this and please do not think ill of me... Give yours to your and Alistair's child when it is born..."

* * *

She woke up because there was an appalling pain in her pelvis that seemed to be getting worse when she breathed... "Cullivan" she said quietly, and then "Cullivan," a little more loudly when she failed to rouse him. He seemed to wake up with a jolt, his head suddenly appearing at the foot of her bed. His dark hair was mussed and sticking up, she would have laughed out loud at this appearance if another spasm had not hit her...

"What..." he asked.

"I think it's the baby...," Neriya said. Suddenly she felt a sticky liquid flow between her legs. She had spent some time these last months speaking to the midwives and healers. "It _is_ the baby." She said.

She had been about seven hours on the birthing stool, at first she had tried her best to be brave and remain quiet until Cullivan, standing over her hunched figure, stroking her tight silver braids and wiping her face with a cool cloth and occasionally helping her up for a walk around, had threatened to box her ears.

"You need to shout, Neriya, if that is what Sylaise would have you do, it will be better for you, for the baby and for all of us, we are accustomed to such things... Think of it as the scream of a warrior in the midst of a hard battle, there is no shame in it..."

So she had began to shout, curse and yell... As Cullivan had said, none of those present seemed disturbed by it. At first it helped and she had hoped it would assist in wrenching the child from her body, but eventually it only sapped her energy further and the baby seemed no nearer to seeing the light.

Finally, the Elven healer and the plump human midwife looked at the pale woman doubled over, moaning quietly and trembling with pain and exchanged a glance. The midwife dropped to her knees and with a few gentle words of encouragement to Neriya conducted a careful examination. Cullivan left the room with them.

"What are her wishes?" They asked him.

"I should check..." He said.

He returned and kneeled in front of Neriya, put his arms round her for a moment, kissed her strained face several times and said, "_Lethallan_, what is it you wish? Is it still the same as we discussed before?"

Neriya opened her eyes meeting his dark ones. She licked her lips and nodded. Cullivan then spoke quietly to the healer and the midwife.

A surgeon was called.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Dragon 9:34

Parvulis/Kingsway Denerim [Present]

Alistair did not usually go mob handed into his meetings with Anora, but that Wednesday he had three people sitting at the table with him, although the only new one was Oswyn, both Crabbe and Lawler having attended previously.

Crabbe prepared to start taking notes. As he had done in the past for Neriya, Alistair summarised the meetings protocols and secured Oswyn's agreement to abide by them.

He was then poised to introduce him but Anora intervened with a discreet, "Welcome, Oswyn of Dragon Peak" to which Oswyn responded with the merest nod.

As usual, Anora opened, "First, matters arising, Alistair, the Grand Cleric..."

Lawler heard Alistair mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "bugger the Grand Cleric," under his breath.

If Anora had overheard the same comment, she did not show it but continued very reasonably, "The Grand Cleric is persisting in expressing her concern that there has not yet been a private meeting between ourselves and her representative, and I do note that almost a year and a half has passed since we first made that proposal..."

"Anora, my dear," said Alistair, "I can't really spare the time until the new year... I think it's called, oh, I don't know... Being King of Ferelden? These next few months especially... Can't she put it in writing?"

"Well, I am not sure that will be acceptable to Her Reverence. She has always emphasised the importance of personal contact. There are ways around it; of course, Alistair, and I do note you recently took some time out... I could meet with her representative by myself..."

"Suddenly I find myself terribly interested in what Elemena's representative may have to say..." Alistair said leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand.

"Then, as a matter of courtesy, may I suggest we apologise for the delay and fix a mutually convenient date in advance? That will quell her impatience... I am happy to draft the letter myself and supply you with a copy, and consult Crabbe on your availability. We could also agree an agenda."

Alistair rolled his shoulders, "Fine." There was a slight edginess to his tone.

"Now, item one, Alistair..."

"Well, you have the copy of Bann Walford's confession..."

"Indeed I do, but I have to ask, how was this extracted?"

"His Majesty and I had a meeting with the Bann on summer's eve, here at the palace in one of the upper rooms." Said Oswyn.

"And the tone of this meeting was..."

"I would describe it as open and friendly, Your Majesty. His Majesty and I expressed some concerns and reservations regarding the good Bann's recent activities and he was more than happy to help us with our enquiries, we only detained him for some four hours. But as you can see, he gave a very complete and explicit account of the activities in question and the others involved in them..."

"I see." Said Anora, her eyes flicked from Oswyn to Alistair, then back to Oswyn and finally to the document in front of her.

"He then departed for home, where he remains, after giving us assurances that he would not share the contents of our conversation with any others." Concluded Oswyn.

"This all seems to have been... Rather well managed..." Remarked Anora, she sounded quite impressed, "So..."

"I am requesting your consent to detaining Bann Ceorlic and putting him on trial for treason..." said Alistair.

"I cannot see any grounds on which to object to that. However, what of his family?"

"From our information it would appear only the Bann himself was involved." Alistair replied, "Should the trial not go well for him, I am quite happy to allow his eldest son to inherit the title and leave the rest of the family in peace..."

"That is generous of you, Alistair, but... Historically there has been a fair amount of bad blood between the Theirins and the Banns of Southern. Perhaps any future conflicts could be avoided now, at the same time as the Bann's arrest... Have you considered exile for his children and spouse?"

Alistair glanced at Oswyn, "I have. I have also had the same discussion with others... I may be new to this, but it seems to me unfair to punish the innocent for the crimes of their relatives, if such can be proven against the Bann. Moreover, it could be that exiling the family will not suppress any resentment but may actually have the opposite effect..."

"Nevertheless, an enemy in Orlais, the Free Marches, or Antiva is somewhat further afield than one in Ferelden and will have less access to any resources to stir dissent here..."

"I appreciate that, but..."

"I just thought the suggestion should be made."

"And I thank you for making it." Replied Alistair, Anora nodded in acknowledgement.

"Now: Logistics."

Alistair glanced at Oswyn who shrugged, and then at Lawler. "We have agreed that the best way to proceed would be to carry out a night-time arrest. Present the warrant to the commander on night duty and then proceed to detain the Bann, using only reasonable force. We would hope that way to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed."

"Who will be involved?"

"All of us here excluding Crabbe, of course."

"So you intend to supervise this yourself?"

"I do. This should not be taken as any reflection on the skills of Lawler and Oswyn. It is simply that since I am the person aggrieved and ultimately responsible for this decision, I should also be there to execute it."

"The following day," added Oswyn, " we will make arrangements for Bann Domhall's confession to be read in the main squares of the villages around Southern and in the market square here at Denerim. Once we have Bann Ceorlic in custody, Lawler will be responsible for ensuring he is escorted to Denerim while his Majesty and myself will proceed to Orzammar to undertake some business there..."

"I only have one slight objection, Alistair, along the lines of my previous one; do you not think that your presence at the arrest will aggravate further old animosities? Is this a risk you need to take?"

"Perhaps not, if truth be told," Alistair said replying to the last question first, "but I am still young and fit and sometimes the tame life I am living here in Denerim tires me... I don't mind taking risks, never have..." Alistair realised he had said a little more than he intended and Anora was looking at him cocking her head, with... Was that pity? "I'll have time enough to grow old and delegate..." he concluded lamely.

"And my first point?"

"Oh that. Bah..." he said.

Anora smiled. "Well then. You two," she said wagging her finger at Lawler and Oswyn, "make sure he doesn't take too many risks and bring him back to Denerim in one piece... I have no appetite for being widowed twice over... It would be politically disastrous." She paused, "This visit to Orzammar?"

"Diplomacy vis a vis our dwarven allies..." Chipped in Oswyn.

"And some work on that project I started last year..." Added Alistair.

"You mean the one I know nothing about?"

"That's the one, dearest..."

"I have nothing to say. Diplomacy is always good, as for the project, since it appears to be self-financing... Bah?"

Alistair almost grinned at her.

* * *

Lady Cousland pursed her lips as she drew the bow. This was her fourth arrow on her first target of three and Alistair already knew he was in trouble. Bowmanship had never been his forte. Archery being what it was, he had mostly expected her to turn up in a gown similar to the one he had seen her in on summers eve. Perhaps even carrying her shoes in her hand as she had then.

However, today, she had dressed the part and was wearing a suit of fine expensive pastel dyed dragon leathers which cleaved to her figure pretty impressively, emphasising the curves, and clothed in which she really looked every inch one of the two surviving warrior scions of house Cousland that indeed she was. Her long hair was pinned up with only a few loose red strands hanging around her face. Alistair thought he detected a white vertical mark on the right side of it but she was not still enough for him to make it out.

Together with the gown she also seemed to have discarded much of her previously frivolous demeanour, in fact Alistair was beginning to wonder whether he was dealing with the same woman. Her fletch flew smartly and embedded itself firmly in the ring surrounding the bull's eye.

As Lady Cousland nocked her final arrow for this target, she at last addressed him, "Like love," she said somewhat cryptically, "initial resistance, the application of a little force harnessed with dexterity, flexibility, give and then, finally, relief..."

"You shoot well" Alistair said, it was actually a bit of an understatement.

"My mother taught me." _That would be Eleanor_, he thought, _slaughtered together with her father Bryce by Rendon Howe a few months before Ostagar_.

"Of course," he said.

Now it was his turn. He was not wearing armour of any kind just some rather comfortable, supple, garments, jerkin and breeches in dusky blue burlap, the kind of which were usually described as "hunting wear" but since he never went hunting... He drew his bow and then he heard a slight creak from her leathers as she settled against the wall crossing her arms.

He let fly and did not, he thought, let himself down too badly. It was obvious, however, that she viewed his efforts quite differently. "Your posture is appalling..." commented Lady Cousland.

"Why, thank you..." he replied, as if she had praised him, it was his usual reflexive reaction against any personal attack since he had been sent to the Chantry.

She smirked, "Typical man, far too rigid."

"As you say," he said gritting his teeth and lining up his next shot.

"How is Anora?" She asked suddenly.

"Look..." he said lowering the bow about to chide her for distracting him.

"I mean in bed" She said. "I bet she's bloody cold..."

Alistair released the arrow and set that and the arc aside and met Lady Cousland's green eyes. "I see." He said, "So this is how it's going to go down..."

"Ouch?" She queried.

He sighed and lined up his second shot again. "I don't really know..." He replied and then loosened. "We only tried it once and it didn't work out..."

"Really?"

"Really." He said preparing to shoot again. "I heard her afterwards trying to be sick in the privy..." _Give her ammo_, he thought, _give her ammo and she might just end up laughing with you_.

"Not good." She commented. He did not know whether she meant his third shot or Anora attempting to throw up, the remark could apply equally to both.

"But that," he added, "might just be a state secret and if I hear you've told anyone... Well..."

"Ha!" she said, "Not scared, but now I'm thinking you must be a bit of a sight without your clothes... Are you very hairy or something?"

"No... I'm not... I think I look quite nice, actually..." said Alistair.

"So says you."

"Yep, and it's the truth. But if you think I'm unattractive... Why are you bothering with this?" He said trying to temper his growing annoyance with reasonableness.

"I like a challenge..."

"If I were you, Lady Cousland," He said stepping aside after his final shot, "I'd be careful that the challenge doesn't come back to bite me on the bum."

She giggled, "Well, it certainly won't today; it looks as though I've got this one pretty much sewn up on that performance."

Silently, Alistair found himself agreeing with that assessment. However, he made sure he was standing pretty much within her comfort zone as she prepared for her second target. Lady Cousland simply ignored him.

"Where does Fergus think you are this afternoon, anyway?"

She didn't reply until she had shot. "Embroidery circle."

"Embroidery... In leathers, right, I can see that..."

Lady Cousland flashed him a smile.

"Embroidering reality more like..." Alistair muttered.

"I can embroider but I do this better..." she said firing again. As if to prove her point she scored her first bull's eye.

"What, issue challenges to men, in order to get into their smallclothes?"

"I meant archery, actually, but that too... It was an old trick of mine every time papa or mama tried to marry me off. Still works for some, apparently." She said looking at him.

Three more arrows on their way and Lady Cousland dispatched her second target.

"So, what did you do during the Blight...?" Alistair asked to distract her as he took up his bow anew.

She suddenly went very still. "Why, what have you heard?" She asked him accusingly.

"Nothing," he said, "honestly, nothing..."

She began to lace the fingers of both hands together and turned away, "What I didn't do in the Blight would be an easier question to answer..."

"I'm sorry... It was just a stupid question..." He said looking at her back between shots.

Lady Cousland did not disturb him for the rest of that target but his aim did not improve.

"Well, I certainly can't say I slew an archdemon, or even that bastard Rendon Howe." She remarked at last.

"We should have saved him for you," said Alistair, "we honestly didn't know..."

"Any death lasting less than a week and anything less than excruciatingly painful would be too good for that son of a bitch..." Lady Cousland said fiercely, "Everyone thinks I'm the one that's traumatized, but they've never seen Fergus on an off day... After all, I only lost a great friend, a casual lover, a dog and my parents... He lost those and his wife and child."

As if anger had honed her skill, her third target was the best of the three overall.

Resignedly he began to prepare for his third target.

"You don't stand a chance..." she commented.

"I know..."

Despite that, his first shot did not fare too badly, but then everything went to hell when she said, "I had Cailan..."

"Fuck..." he swore and his current arrow missed the target completely. Suddenly Alistair pictured Cailan naked moving up and down on Lady Cousland and could not seem to get that image out of his head. He lowered the bow and glared at her.

"That upset you..." She observed.

"You are the most irritating woman..." He snapped, "I hardly knew him, anyway..." He added.

"Neither did I..."

"How's that supposed to help?"

"It's not; it's just a comment..."

He ignored her and eventually put down the bow and began to tally up the totals. "I apologise..." she said, sounding nervous again. "Sometimes I _do_ talk too much..." She added.

"You were doing it on purpose. On purpose..." He said tetchily.

"Perhaps you're just a bad loser..."

"No. Apparently, I'm a rather good one if these tallies are anything to go by..." He walked over to the row and of six targets began to pull the arrows from them and she followed on his heels.

"When's our next encounter?" She asked with some enthusiasm.

"Can't see it happening until next year..." He said huffily, still extracting arrows, "I have stuff to do... Kingly stuff... Away from Denerim..."

"Dangerous?"

"Not really..."

"Will you summon me?"

He turned to face her and handed her her arrows back, Lady Cousland put them in her quiver, "Yes. Yes I will..." Alistair found himself saying, not really knowing why.

Suddenly Lady Cousland smiled very sweetly at him. "Good," she said, "Very good, then, I'll wait to hear from you..." Unexpectedly she kissed him quickly on the cheek and then strode away, swinging her bow jauntily as she went...

Alistair could not make her out at all.

* * *

"So who do you wish this child's guardian to be?" asked the Arbiter again.

"Her mother, firstly, Neriya Surana, also known as the hero of Ferelden..."

"But she may be dead, you say," said the Arbiter.

"But should she not be..." Clarified Alistair.

"Then she should take precedence over any of the others..." the Arbiter specified. "Who are Bregeth, surname unknown, of the Dalish Istvaen clan, currently employed as her wet nurse here in Denerim and Keeper Lanaya, the leader of said clan to be found usually somewhere in the Brecilian Forest in the environs of South Reach, failing that, Oswyn of Dragon Peak or one Lawler Dunne, also a citizen of Denerim... Any two of the above to share guardianship at any given time."

The Arbiter paused, "Can I make a point here, Your Majesty? Since this child is yours then she is, illegitimate as she may be, a clear contender to the throne and a Theirin by blood, why would Your Majesty not wish her to be brought up as such, and by persons of... Uh, standing? There is only one person who meets that description on this list." He nodded in Oswyn's general direction, "I understand the inclusion of the child's mother, of course, in a preferential position, but some of these other persons..."

"Arbiter, what do you know of my childhood?" Alistair asked him.

"Fairly little, I know that you were brought up in the household of the current Arl of Redcliffe..."

"Did you know that at the age of thirteen I was sent to the Chantry to train as a templar?"

"I had heard..."

"I had and have," said Alistair, "the worst temperament possible for a Templar and the fact is I was never admitted as such, anyone who knew or really cared for me at the time would have seen that..."

He paused, "What I am trying to say here is that I wish for my daughter to be brought up by people who may love her or at least respect her, for what she is or may be, not just for her name. These are not necessarily people of standing who can often have other concerns than the best interests of a child... And, please do not take anything I have said here as a criticism of the Arl... He did what he could in the circumstances. I am just beginning to appreciate myself that bringing up a child is no easy task..."

"I shall make an attempt to draw this up, Your Majesty, and provide you with the copies you have required." The Arbiter said looking intently at Alistair, "Of course, it shall be kept in the strictest confidence. But you must understand it is all very complex and, in the circumstances, it would be much simpler if you did not die, or at least refrained from doing so until this child is of age..."

Alistair smiled, "I shall try and follow that advice," he said.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Dragon 9:34

Frumentum/Harvestmere Lothering/Southern Bannorn [Present]

They made camp just off the imperial Highway a few miles south of Lothering. Alistair who had decided to take Mince with him on the trip, after sparring and supper settled down for a quiet evening with a book and the dog who was happily chewing a beef bone, at the foot of his bed. This time, though, his one remaining Mabari would _not_ be on the front line if he could possibly help it.

Lawler and a few of the soldiers, on the other hand, he sent to Lothering with some silver, to see if he could "find out anything…" Lawler did not seem to mind.

Earlier on, in the trip, Oswyn had asked Alistair how it had gone with Lady C and Alistair had given him a run down of the archery competition. Oswyn had shaken his head in mock concern, "I warned Your Majesty that that woman was dangerous, give her half an inch and she'll eat you alive…"

In reply, Alistair had pointed out that he had more than an inch to give and as for the eating alive thing… Oswyn had told him he was obviously a very sick man and Alistair had immediately concurred…

Alistair put down his book, which was entitled "The Further Adventures of an Orlesian Bard" and was in the original Orlesian, he had found a Fereldan translation but it was a little clunky. It was not quite, as amusing as the first one ("The Intimate Adventures of an Orlesian Bard"), he asked himself what Leliana would make of them, and from that thought his mind began drifting wondering about his lovers and friends…

Neriya… He just could not see her as dead. Abandoning him, sadly, yes; But dead? Neriya and "dead" did not seem to fit in the same sentence… He never discussed her with anyone apart from the Keeper and Lawler after he had received the note with Niamh because he was afraid that if he did, she would become that thing "dead", he so dreaded for her. That she would somehow actually die… While if he kept her to himself, on the other hand, she would always be alive… Somewhere at least, if only in his head.

Oswyn seemed to have made a good recovery from his mistreatment at the hands of the wretched Howe (just how many lives did that monster ruin?), but was there an affective void there? Oswyn had said as much himself, after the interrogation of Bann Domnhall. Did he currently love vicariously through Alistair? If he was, Alistair hoped he was enjoying himself and would eventually find the confidence to move on...

Lawler, now there was a surprise, or was it? It seemed to Alistair that part of him had always known and accepted Lawler as he was, but was he just giving himself too much credit? That guy at the port seemed interesting, and Lawler protective of him, in a way Alistair immediately recognised… Very different to Lawler, but isn't that what Lawler needed? Alistair thought he should start giving Lawler more holidays…

Anora, was definitely more relaxed recently or was that because he was more relaxed with her, or a bit of both? She didn't seem to be getting so much on his nerves as she did initially, but ultimately could he trust her? He didn't really think so, and that was sad, the reason being he could never see _himself_ forgiving anyone who had killed _his_ father…

Sweet Andraste, come to think of it, Duncan, after Neriya was one of the main reasons he had taken out Loghain in the first place… In addition, what would Duncan think of him now? He was sure he would _not_ approve… Certainly not of that thing with witch bitch, not of him being king, the womanising (though he might _understand_ that, actually, Duncan was not puritan in sexual matters). Carrying out your duties as a Grey Warden was paramount to him, but where was Duncan when his guidance was most needed? Not his fault he died, of course, but then survivors have to improvise…

Bregeth seemed to be the perfect mother to his child, but still said the most outrageous things together with the most sensible ones… He liked that, found it appealing and challenging, and she had been helpful and sympathetic a few weeks ago when he was so down. She was not, however, a romantic option, and he was very comfortable with that, as was she. In fact, it was one of the most interesting developments in his recent life…

Lady C was a bit like Bregeth, in that she, too, was unpredictable… She seemed, however, far more unstable…

As for himself, Alistair had only just realised that he had a very low boredom threshold, he wondered if there was any sort of woman he could now settle down with permanently, and not through a sense of obligation (because he had that still, somewhere), but because he was happy with her day to day…

He let Mince who had been pawing at the door, out, told him to come back quickly and began to undress.

But then, supposing he found such a woman would she be happy with _him_? That was the key question. Neriya, Casildea, to a certain extent Isabela (there was the age gap and the fact that she was a pirate); any of them, he could see himself content with for a long time, but ultimately they had all left him or turned him down… In the nicest possible way, of course…

In addition, the reason was more or less the same, it was not personal, they had or wanted lives of their own and things to get on with… Which was probably precisely, what had made them so attractive to him in the first place…? It was all a bit circular, actually, and just thinking about it made him begin to feel tired…

He _was_ tired he realised, it had been a long trek to get here.

Then he thought about the real love of his life, Niamh. He could almost feel her in his arms, hear her cooing and smell her sweet (and not so sweet…) little baby smells… He wondered who she would resemble the most when she grew up, him or Neriya? Neriya, he hoped, but he would still love her anyway… What would she become as an adult? Bregeth had said she was not a mage but respect Bregeth as he might; he was not sure how far she was believable on that score.

All the other stuff, except perhaps for Neriya, paled into insignificance so long as Niamh was safe and happy. Then, he saw Neriya as part and parcel of their daughter's safety and happiness…

Mince whined from outside. Alistair let him back in.

He hoped Niamh was sleeping soundly back in Denerim, said a quick prayer to the Maker asking him to protect her always and then got into bed. Mince jumped on top of him just to be friendly, lick his face and keep him company, Alistair pretended to shoo him off, and then fell asleep with the dog snoring beside him...

* * *

Alistair woke the next morning to find Lawler sitting on his bed teasing Mince with the remains of the bone.

"Lothering?" He said, "Dead or deadish… The only place with anything resembling any life is the tavern… Even the Chantry seems to be abandoned…"

"I'm sad to hear that," said Alistair, but he was not really surprised thinking back to the town he had first visited four years ago, full of refugees and a deep sense of panic and despair.

"But the tavern is frequented by soldiers from Southern… The captain on duty tonight will be a certain Baines, straight as an arrow, very loyal to the family. Could be difficult… Where's a rogue when you need one, eh?"

"Apparently on my bed…" said Alistair.

"Want me to help you dress?"

"This is getting tedious…" Said Alistair, "How's that other guy anyway?"

"The guy on the dock? Puy? Fine thanks. Left him in Denerim with Jo and the boys, he's a good cook, he was the strategist… Whatever that is, and one of the cooks on _The Siren's Call_… Kids seem to like him and he says he always wanted a family, you can have mine, I said… for free…" He paused, "I was just joking, you know…" Lawler said looking a little embarrassed.

"Interesting… A strategist is a person who plans things out… Isabela will miss him, how long was he working for her?" asked Alistair getting out of bed and casting around for his smallclothes…

"Ah," said Lawler, "I pretended I knew what a strategist was because I'm a bit worried that one day Puy's going to realise just how ignorant I am… About two years, I think. He's originally from Trevinter... Your underpants are over there by the way, but you're not going to wear yesterday's again, are you?"

"You're not ignorant, Lawler, just disadvantaged…" Said Alistair bending down, "Trevinter... How interesting... I'm going running with Mince, will be good for him, then breakfast, bath and change of clothes... Discuss things, again… but using your new info..."

Alistair found going over their plans for the coming evening repeatedly extremely wearing, but always at the forefront of his mind in that regard would be his memories of his half-brother Cailan at Ostagar and his impatience with the battle plans and with Loghain's attention to detail.

One of the reasons he was going running was that it assisted his concentration.

Lawler yawned, "Well I'm going to bed..."

"Hmmm, sweet dreams then... I'll be waking you up later, no doubt."

* * *

When he started running, he found his mind going back to Cailan and Ostagar…

_If only Cailan had paid more attention, if only he had taken Duncan's advice, if only he had not been so cocky and spoiling for a fight, if only he had sat back on his heels and actually __**thought**__ things through just one more time… The course of history may have been very different and Cailan would still be alive to tell the tale. More importantly, Lothering would not be little more than a ghost town… _

"_The distraction of Kings often costs kingdoms… and lives"… Now where had he read that? Perhaps it was from Bearnard Nicholas' 'The Philosophy of Governance' the companion piece to his vastly superior 'The Morality of Governance'? I should check that out when I get back to Denerim… Bet Loghain read that as well as stuff on strategy… Bet Anora's __**memorized**__ the damn thing…_

_

* * *

_

"Believe me; I do understand how difficult this must be for you…" Alistair said to Captain Baines, They were in the guardroom at the gates of BannCeorlic's castle, "I've been a soldier myself and always took pride in my loyalty… But sometimes loyalties conflict, such as here… I am your king after all…" He paused to allow that to sink in a little, "That aside, though, my intent is only to spare bloodshed and see that justice is done. I am not going to harm the Bann; he will be escorted to Denerim to face a fair trial… If he is found innocent all well and good…"

Alistair could have sworn he saw tears in the Captain's eyes as he shook his head, "Your Majesty, with all due respect to you, I can't do it… I just can't…"

Alistair patted him on the back, "Then what I'm going to ask you to do is to resign your command temporarily and appoint someone in your stead who is more… amenable to our reasonable request…"

Captain Baines looked at one of the young soldiers present. "Go fetch Quinn," he said, "Wake him up if you have to, and bring him here, not a word to anyone else. Quick now…"

Once the soldier had departed Captain Baines turned stiffly to Alistair, "Your Majesty," he drew and handed him his sword, hilt first, Alistair accepted it with a formal nod.

"This Quinn…" said the Captain, "He is not a bad man, just… Younger and he hasn't been working for the family as long as I have." Alistair's eyes flicked to Oswyn who smiled grimly back at him over the Captain's shoulder. It all seemed to be going to plan.

"Thank you, Captain Baines," Said Alistair, "I wonder if you would wait outside while we talk to Quinn?"

Some ten minutes later, the soldier came back followed by a bleary-eyed lieutenant with rather sharp features who immediately did a double take when confronted by Alistair with his arms crossed over his chest and a severe expression on his face.

"Good evening, Captain Quinn," said Alistair, "I have a problem and I think you may be able to help me…"

* * *

They discussed what Alistair should say and the tone in which he should say it. They discussed posture and even what they should wear. Full armour was considered too belligerent it would cast a question mark over their prime argument that they were seeking to avoid bloodshed. No armour at all was not an option… After all, the situation could easily turn nasty.

They settled on gauntlets and vambraces, sabatons and greaves, but silverite chain mail for the body. For Alistair, a scarlet doublet with an embossed crown over it, for Oswyn a deep blue one with the Dragon Peak crescent moon and five stars in silver. Lawler refused to depart from his usual black leather. Over it all, black burlap waxed capes with hoods, the same as worn by the royal soldiers who now had "AA" engraved on their steel cuirasses.

* * *

Alistair left Oswyn chatting amicably with the guards on the gate and with a contingent of five well-armed royal soldiers. He, Lawler, and the remainder of the troops then proceeded after Quinn through the castle ensuring all the rooms were lighted as they went towards the family bedrooms.

Apparently, there were three of them on the third floor, one shared by the Bann and his wife, one for their young daughter and her nurse and another for their 16-year-old son. The Arl of Southern also had an elder, married daughter.

After leaving a further five-man contingent on the second floor, they arrived silently at the Bann's bedroom door.

"Does the Bann keep a sword in his bedroom?" Alistair had asked Quinn earlier…

"Are Mabaris from Ferelden, Your Majesty?" Quinn had replied. It was a tad more helpful than captain Baines' previous response, "I don't know…"

"Which side of the bed does he sleep on as you go through the door?" Alistair asked.

"Left."

"And where would the nearest weapon to him in the room be placed?"

"Usually together with his discarded clothes on a chair…"

"To the left side of the bed?"

"Yes… Ah… Apologies, Your Majesty, now I recall… but about six months ago, he suddenly started keeping his sword propped up against the bed… I remember because one of the maids tried to remove it one morning to make the bed and the Bann lost his temper with her…"

"Does he do that often?" asked Alistair, "Loose his temper with the servants?"

"Lately – yes. He seems to be getting tetchier…"

"How is he as a fighter?"

"Your Majesty… He is old… He likes to talk the talk, still, but his body is inflexible… Although I would not underestimate some of those elders when their blood is up, certainly my grandfather, every now and then, used to trounce me as a lad and the Bann does have a nasty temper…"

"Thank you for your advice, Captain Quinn… It is much appreciated." Said Alistair giving him a quick smile.

* * *

Alistair took a deep breath, Lawler stood protectively to his right, whereas Quinn had placed himself at his left. This was the part he was most dreading. He looked behind him to check that everyone was in the right position. He motioned the soldier with the crossbow to stand a little further to his right.

Then, leaning forward he turned the knob and opened the door and stepped into the darkened room.

As the crossbowman Lawler and Quinn entered quickly behind him Lawler and the crossbowman to the right, Quinn to the left, he took a few wide strides to stand at the foot of the bed.

When the soldiers behind came in with torches, Alistair cleared his throat and said, "Bann Ceorlic of Southern, I have come to arrest you and arrange for you to be escorted to Denerim, where you will be tried for treason…"

There was a stifled whimper from the right side of the bed and, in the shadow; Alistair saw that the crossbowman had placed himself so he had a clear bead on both the figures in the crib. Then Lawler's hand lowered itself almost comfortingly, on what must be the Bann's wife's shoulder. From the left side there came a strangled oath and some sudden movement as Bann Ceorlic lurched for his sword… Only to find it had been removed by Quinn.

Alistair bowed his head and raised it when the lamps began to be lit around him in the bedchamber… More impotent curses came from the Bann while his wife, her eyes flicking nervously between Alistair and the impervious crossbowman, cowered under the sheets.

"I am sorry to disturb you Madam…" said Alistair addressing her. "Bann… my men will prepare your clothes and make ready to conduct you to the capital…"

"YOU! YOU!" exclaimed the old man.

He seemed to have aged badly since Alistair last saw him, about a year or so ago. He had looked then quite debonair and personable, with a balanced regular face, a neat white beard and well-proportioned features. Now he looked old and deflated, his skin sagged and seemed to have a greyish tint about it, although perhaps that was the bad lighting. His bear was unkept and straggly, he squinted badly…

Alistair looked slightly embarrassed.

"You have come yourself…," said the Bann suddenly recovering his coherence.

"Yes…"

"A Theirin here, under my roof, in my castle… Come to gloat at me in my dotage… Come to cast his impure gaze on my wife and my children…"

"Bann…" said Alistair.

"What's that on your surcoat, lad?" demanded the Bann pointing a bony finger in his direction with a malicious gleam in his eye. "A crown… Why, look dearest," He addressed the cowering figure next to him, "the upstart wears a crown… What do you think of that? Eh?"

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door, the Bann's son, Alistair guessed. He did not take his eyes of the Bann but thought he heard the youth being disarmed.

"Agus, Agus… please don't hurt him, don't hurt my baby…" Cried the Bann's wife.

"We won't, Madam," Alistair sought to re-assure her, "That is not our intention here…"

"Why aren't you wearing your family's arms, lad, the two rampant red dogs? Beneath you are they?" Asked the Bann, ignoring his wife completely.

"Bann, please… Quinn, assist the Bann to rise and let's get him dressed…"

Quinn tried to support the Bann out of the bed but was shaken off abruptly, "Traitor!" the Bann snarled at him.

Alistair turned to two of the soldiers, "Get the Bann out of the bed and get him dressed. NOW. We have to be on our way…"

The soldiers grabbed Bann Ceorlic and, as gently as they could, hauled him out of the bed in his nightshirt.

As they dragged him past Alistair, he struggled a little and thrusting his face towards him hissed, "You know, I've heard about you, heard how you bridle when people call you a bastard… Me I don't care whether you're a bastard or not because first and foremost you're a fucking Theirin and how typical of them you are… A very pretty face, yes, but behind that smarmy, duplicitous, dissolute, violent and ruthless… Like the base born dogs on your shield… Just like them…"

"Get him out of my sight," said Alistair in a low voice and clipped tones to the soldiers, "Get him out of my sight before I do something I'll regret…"

As the Bann was hauled from the room, Quinn handed Alistair his sword. It was at least half an age, plain but most finely wrought in keen steel with excellent balance. On handling, it felt immediately as any good blade should, as if it were an extension of the wielder's arm. He strongly resisted the temptation to swish it.

From outside the room he heard the Bann cry, "My sword… Take your filthy hands off of it!"

"I shall give it to Agus before we leave," Said Alistair handing it with some reluctance back to Quinn. Turning towards the Bann's wife who was now sitting up in the bed, her face in her hands weeping silently while her shoulders shook, he said quietly, "Believe me, I am sorry." And left the room.

* * *

Outside the boy who was obviously Agus, stood hard-faced between two shoulders. He was tall for his age, but gangly, his form yet to be filled in. He had abundant dark curly hair and lively brown eyes. He looked back at Alistair with scorn and then he spat at him in the face.

Alistair wiped his face with the hem of his cape and rolling his eyes at Agus said dryly, "I've had worse than that on my face in my time… Much worse." Then addressing the guards, he said, "Bring the boy."

When they had reached the guardroom, Alistair asked Oswyn to come in with him and ordered the guards to sit the boy in a chair. Alistair himself took a chair on the opposite side of the rough plank table to the boy and Oswyn straddled a chair behind Alistair.

Alistair sighed, laid the Bann's sword that he had retrieved from Quinn in between him and the boy on the table, "A fine blade…" He said, "Very fine." Then he tilted himself back in the chair, crossed his legs, propped them up on the table and perused the boy carefully who looked nervous and embarrassed.

After a while, he spoke, "We had a chance here," He said, "Both our families had a chance... Do you know what I'm talking about?"

The boy shook his head.

"Your grandfather, also Bann Ceorlic…" Alistair said slowly, "helped set up the ambush where my grandmother, Moira Theirin, known as the 'Rebel Queen' was killed. My father, King Maric Theirin, in turn, later killed your grandfather in revenge… Does that ring a bell now?"

"Ye-es" stammered the boy.

"Good. I, on the other hand, as your father quiet accurately pointed out, am a bastard. My father never recognised me, he knew who I was and I actually met him and my half-brother, Cailan, a few times but I never exchanged more than a dozen words with either of them. My mother, by the way, is dead, I never met her…"

He paused, "What I am trying to say here is that I grew up estranged from my blood family. I hardly knew my father or my half brother. I was educated by the Chantry so all these things, Moira, the Rebel Queen, Maric the Saviour, our glorious war of independence from Orlais, Bann Ceorlic, the elder… all this… Stuff… for me was just so many stories from dusty history books… Like many survivors today, my fight was the fight against the darkspawn and the Blight, quite enough brawling for a lifetime. I did not have an axe to grind against your family. There was nothing personal. Indeed, many of the things I now know about _my _own father, I dislike and frown on.

I was quite content to let things lie, to let the old wounds between our families heal, but then, a few months ago, I discovered that you father may have been involved in an unprovoked attack against myself and some of my friends when were encamped in the Brecilian Forest, not too far from here… I think it is extremely unfortunate that your father may have chosen to reopen all those bitter wounds…"

"My father would never… He would not…" said Agus.

"Perhaps you're right," replied Alistair, "and he will be found innocent. However, several people lost their lives and I and Oswyn here, and not a few others, had to fight for ours. I have to do something to find those who are culpable. I cannot just sit back."

Alistair sighed pulled off his gauntlets put them on the table next to the sword, laced his hands and cracked his knuckles. "You're young; you're responsible for your family now. You will have to assist your mother; help raise your little sister… I am hopeful there is still a chance for peace between Theirin and Southern… Here…" he said picking up the sword and standing. "Take your father's sword Agus. It's a superb weapon. Please think about what I have just said, over the next few months, that's all I ask…"

After the boy had left Oswyn shook his head, "That", he said, "I truly hope you don't live to regret that…"

"Think I will?" Asked Alistair.

"All nobles love 'sport'" explained Oswyn, "Games, tourneys, gambling, drinking, dog fights…" Alistair flinched, "but what they like most of all is blood sports, and the best blood of all to spill? Blue…"

"Surely you must be wrong…"

"I wish I were…"

Alistair shook his head, "Anyway, let's see Lawler off…"

* * *

Lawler seemed merry enough, _almost as if he were heading for love and home_, thought Alistair a little enviously. He reminded him that he should visit Bregeth at least once a day and ensure she was all right.

It was raining lightly so everybody had their capes wrapped tight around them and their hoods up. As Alistair and Oswyn were about to go back to camp, one of the hooded figures standing near Lawler turned.

"What of Habren?" Asked Bann Ceorlic

Alistair tried to ignore him.

"Does she amuse the Theirin King? In which dungeon do you have her, Your Majesty?"

Before Alistair could do or say anything, Lawler went over to the Bann and struck him on the cheek, not hard, but enough to make the Bann reel. "Enough," he said, "You bitter, spiteful, old man… Enough… Unless you want to walk to Denerim gagged as well as bound…"

"Lawler…" said Alistair.

"Oh, so he doesn't know?" Crowed the Bann, "No one dares repeat to his face what is said in the all the taverns from Amaranthine to Jader?"

"Alistair…" said Lawler "I'm so sorry…"


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Dragon 9:34

Frumentum/Harvestmere Kinloch Hold/Redcliffe [Present]

"I just don't understand it…" Alistair said shaking his head, "How can people even think that I would, that I…" He cursed. "Tell me," He said, "Just tell me, am I _anything at all_ like that monster Howe? Anything?"

This whole rumour thing about him and Habren had been really bothering Alistair for the last two days. The fact that some people had been saying that he had 'disappeared' Habren and kept her locked up somewhere for his own private amusement. As if he would find such a thing 'fun'.

However, he should have known better. He regretted asking Oswyn of all people that question as soon as the words had escaped his big, blabby mouth.

Oswyn went quite green and it was not because they were both on the prow of the rowing boat on the way to Kinloch Hold, no.

"You…" Said Oswyn, who had now turned away to look out over the water. "You… Alistair," He started again "are nothing, absolutely nothing like…" He paused and gulped, "Like that fucking, shitty, _cruel,_ merciless, bastard… Rendon Howe. Nothing."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," said Alistair, "I really didn't think, wasn't thinking straight…"

Oswyn turned back to face him, his features still tinged with green, and waved his hand dismissively in the air between them. "Not your problem. Mine."

"You, I…"

Oswyn settled himself against his side of the boat, "Howe, was demonspawn, his happiness grew with the pain of others. When he came down to his dungeon, as he did at least twice a day when he was in residence… We all knew… All knew… It would get significantly worse while he hung around…"

"You don't have to tell me this…"

"I have been thinking, you know. It will probably make me feel better to tell _someone_…" said Oswyn, glancing away, "At least one person… I can never tell my parents exactly what… It would hurt them far too much… I have no-one else to unburden myself to, I would tell Lady C, we've become quite chummy, but I don't want to make things even worse for her."

_Well,_ Alistair reflected, _it's only fair I should pay some price for my utter thoughtlessness… This is my friend after all… What did I say once about people coming to Kings with bad news?_

Nevertheless he felt bound to make a suggestion, "Isn't this something that should be done with alcohol?"

"Not in my view. I want to be stone cold sober… But if you don't want to hear it just say so, Alistair…" He added crossly, then he paused, "Of course you don't want to hear it, what a stupid thing of me to say. But what I mean is if you refuse to hear it… I… will try and understand."

"I don't want to hear it, who would? But you're my friend, so…"

"Then I will keep it short. When Howe came down the torturers would be particularly cruel because they were well aware he got off on it and they wanted to be in his good books. If it did not happen to be me, at the beginning at least, I used to beg, BEG, the Maker to help the person who was in torment when that happened, but that is one of the reasons I no longer believe in a kind Maker… He never assisted anyone there, not for a fair while, anyway. And the rest of us would have to listen to what was happening, knowing that the next time it could be us. That was the most horrible thing, even more horrible than enduring the torture… The anticipation… Knowing that you were next…"

After excruciation would come humiliation. Abuse, always sexual in nature, but any kind of thing, you know? Howe was not one way or the other in the manner that a normal person would understand it, it was the pain and the debasement that turned him on, the gender, age or species of the victim did not concern him one jot, just their suffering and degradation. Oh, he had his preferences, he enjoyed breaking the strongest most, I think… But in the main, it was all the same to him.

Sometimes Howe would carry out the abuse himself, sometimes he would get one of his favourites to do it and watch, other times, both things… And then more pain, always more pain…"

Oswyn had explained all this very quietly but now his voice dropped even lower, until it was little more than a whisper, "Towards the end, the most horrible thing was, that I no longer appealed to the Maker for that other person. I just used to be happy, that it wasn't me, happy that it was someone else, almost wish suffering on them… I despise myself so much for that now…"

He turned away again and pulled the hood of his cape abruptly over his head, although it was a fine autumn morning. Alistair had little doubt he was weeping though he heard no sound, the knuckles of his hands gripping the side of the boat were bone white… and yet he could not resist one further question.

"Was Riordan…"

"Oh yes," said Oswyn with a gasp, "Riordan too…"

"I cannot imagine…" said Alistair, he wondered how Riordan had succeeded in preserving so much dignity so shortly after his mistreatment, _perhaps he had consoled himself with the prospect of an imminent death… Such a bitter thought_. But Riordan was dead, Oswyn lived and that was the important thing now. "I am so sorry…"

"Not you, it's not you, it…" he shook his head.

"It wasn't you either, you know. Not your fault. At all. Anyone else in the same situation… You are extremely brave. Just the fact that you are here and functioning."

"That really doesn't…"

"But it will one day. You're alive. You got out. One day, perhaps, you'll come to terms with it all. Your revenge is living… and having fun while you're doing it… I just hope telling me was helpful. I always respected you, I respect you even more now… And Riordan."

"_Riordan_ was brave," Said Oswyn vacantly, "I wasn't. I am a coward…"

"I really don't think things work like that," said Alistair, "It's not black and white, coward and hero… Never was." Alistair put his arm around his friend's shoulder, well aware that people, himself included, often said one thing to their friends and quite another to themselves. Oswyn stiffened and then returned the embrace lightly and sighed.

After a while he asked, "Why are we going to the Tower of Mages?"

* * *

Time to try and keep that one promise he had made more than a year ago to Neriya, Alistair thought. This was not going to be easy but he might as well make a start.

Alistair noted that the Chief Enchanter's workroom was far larger and far more fancily furnished than that of the Templar Commander which was just over the way. There were elaborate chairs with comfortable cushions, lots of gilt and scarlet and several expensive looking heavy dark wood bookcases, containing richly ornamented tomes… If the Templar Commander had one book in his room you could almost guarantee it would be a complete copy of the Chant with no illustrations and on the roughest parchment.

He tried not to hold his love of luxury against the man, after all, Gregoir had freely chosen his duties, Irving had not chosen to be born a mage and was as much a prisoner as most of the mages under him.

Near the window stood what appeared to be an optical device. _A telescope (?) _he guessed.

Irving saw Alistair looking at it, "I enjoy studying the night sky from time to time," he said.

"Is there a good view from here?" asked Alistair.

"Very good…"

"Tell me," said Alistair to Irving, once the usual tedious pleasantries had been exchanged, "How many mages have been made tranquil since I've been on the throne?"

Irving's features assumed a blank expression, which on Irving Alistair was now beginning to interpret as, "I know exactly but I really don't want to tell you…"

"You might want to…"

Irving held up his hand. "Exactly fourteen. Your Majesty."

"Did any of those volunteer?"

"Only one. There are always nutters…"

"I gather you don't particularly like this…"

"Sometimes it's preferable to execution… Sometimes…"

"And these mages…"

"I choose them, I would consider them all extremely dangerous…"

"Is there no other way to contain a dangerous mage?"

"Execution." Irving's voice was clipped and to the point.

"Do they get a choice?" Alistair felt he had to at least attempt to manoeuvre around Irving's conciseness.

"No."

"Is there any way they could be given a choice?"

"Containing them once we've broken the bad news to them would be extremely difficult, don't you think, Your Majesty?" _Was there a touch of sarcasm there?_

"But don't you contain them once the decision has been made to make them tranquil?"

Irving sighed deeply, "We tend to spring it on them… We do our best to avoid patterns so there is no specific day or time on which the… _procedure_…. is carried out. It is horrible I would agree, but by doing so we limit containment to a short period and potential harm to everyone, including the mage him or herself…"

"How… How does this work, exactly?"

"Does Your Majesty really want to know?"

"Of course not." Alistair snorted, "I believe the _procedure_, as you call it, is particularly unpleasant." Alistair was beginning to get a very familiar gut-wrenching feeling about all this, but, he supposed, there was something to be said for concentrating all the shit in one day, "But these are subjects, my subjects, so isn't it right that I should be aware of what is being done to them? And that I should be notified in some way of the reasons as to why they have been selected for this treatment…"

"They are wards of the Chantry, as are all mages…"

"But they're all Fereldans, aren't they? First and foremost. My subjects… and we are doing something to them without their consent, probably actually _against_ their consent in most cases..."

"I don't tend to get into politics, Your Majesty. It only brings trouble to mages. I would suggest that may be something you should clarify with our friends at the Chantry…", Whatever the natural meaning of the words, Alistair noted the emphasis Irving put on 'friends'.

"Fair enough. But what about morality?"

Irving steepled his fingers, "What of it? Does not making mages tranquil limit harm? That is the only purpose for which it is done…"

"I trust you and Gregoir to make decisions that are for the best, but is that what has always happened in the past? I know for example that you were relying on… Oh, what was his name, the bald guy… Yeah, Uldred, you'd think I'd remember because my mate Zev run him through four years ago after Neriya had frozen him, to pick out those that were practicing blood magic and hence should be made tranquil… Now we all know what happened next. It seems mistakes _were_ made, even under your stewardship… Mistakes that can never be undone."

Irving visibly swallowed "It is quite possible that they were… I agree I was somewhat responsible…"

Alistair crossed his arms and lowered his head. "It's good you recognise that…" he said finally looking at Irving, "I think I'm going to request that in future you provide me with copies of the notes that you make on all mages who you suggest should be made tranquil before the _procedure_ is applied to them... And I would suggest that they include, so an outsider like me can identify the basis on which you've reached your decision, some reasons as to why you think undergoing the procedure is necessary for that particular individual.

I will go through them myself or get someone else with some knowledge to, more likely a bit of both. You will refrain from applying the procedure to the mages until you receive the nod from me. I will inform Gregoir of the same. It will introduce another check into the system and may help prevent or minimise further mistakes…

Thank you for allowing Oswyn to look through notes on all the mages currently here, by the way, and for agreeing to provide me with copies. In future, I would like to attend the application of the procedure… Just to see it for myself, but that depends on my availability… On another subject, do you have facilities for storing documents confidentially?"

"Well, there is a special section of the library to which access is extremely restricted…"

"Could you deposit this document there?" Alistair pulled from out of his cape a parchment with a grey wax seal embossed with a crown. _I should change that_, he thought, _adopt the two Theirin Mabaris, why not?_

"What is this?" Asked Irving.

"A copy of my will, so I would be grateful if it is not unsealed until you have confirmed news of my death… I have placed several other copies elsewhere. Not that I am intending to go unto the fade anytime soon, of course…"

Irving nodded and took the document.

"One last thing. What happens to mages after they are made tranquil?"

"We use their skills, although their emotional responses and their magic capabilities have been stunted, their intellectual faculties remain unimpaired… They make excellent stock controllers, for example, additionally, they can bind lyrium and make all sorts of useful artefacts…"

"And who benefits from that last thing, the lyrium binding? Who profits from that?"

Irving suddenly beamed at Alistair, as if Alistair were one of his less bright pupils but had, one day, quite unexpectedly, made a particularly astute contribution to the class… "The Chantry" he said his pale lipped smile becoming even wider, "The Chantry…"

* * *

Alistair's subsequent interview with Gregoir was little more than perfunctory. When the Templar Commander asked him if he wanted to go around the tower, he said yes though there was nothing specific to do. His thinking was, though, that once someone had made you a concession you should exercise if every now and then, even if it wasn't strictly necessary, just to make sure they wouldn't forget about it.

Alistair was pleased to discover that Gregoir had had a Templar's suit made for him as he had promised. He stopped on one of the lower levels to take a peep at Oswyn, who glared back at him with a thoroughly pissed off expression, which was quite funny, in a way.

He also stopped at the second floor library at the same spot from which the year before he had espied Neriya hard at work and bossing Magnus around. There were other mages reading at that table today, of course, and he wondered again, where Neriya could be, what space she occupied now…

* * *

News of the Bann's detention had travelled pretty fast, she reflected. And two 'colleagues' of hers were dead. Those bloody elves… The remaining 'colleague' must be in Antiva by now. Habren and her Orlesian had never counted, they were just pawns.

So she was the last, the last of Ferelden, she thought. Pity really, but she had never been of the view that it would work, there was only an outside chance of success, that's why all the players were so low-level. No point in risking anybody important. Just a warning, see what the reaction would be. Not that she considered herself low-level, of course…

Besides, exposure to any risk was well worth the price of getting out of that hellish place where she had been confined for nearly four years…

Well, she had never met the Bann and he certainly did not know her, that was the advantage of working in small cells with ignorant go betweens…

She shook some of the late afternoon rain off her cloak before going in through the large doors.

"Good evening, revered mother," one of her new flock said to her. She smiled beatifically in response.

* * *

"Nothing like being set work to keep your mind off things…" said Oswyn cynically.

"That's what I thought," replied Alistair purposely taking what he said at face value.

"Interesting people, these mages… Very interesting."

"And potentially bloody useful," said Alistair, "But they're all locked up in there…" He added waving in the tower's general direction. "Well, most of them anyway… I always thought it was a bit of a waste, frankly…"

"In any case," said Oswyn, "No Viviane…"

"Ach, she's probably passed," said Alistair, "Pity, but there you go…"

"Neriya's notes, nothing really interesting… Pretty much what you said she told you." He hesitated, "Alistair… Don't you feel… A little bit dirty about this… Just a little?"

Alistair looked towards the distant lights of Redcliffe, where they were headed, "You've just said yourself there's nothing interesting… I _will_ ask you about what was there later. No. I guess, the answer is, I should, but no. I don't. Not at the moment."

"This Fiona… Well, I was only given the notes on the living, that was our cover, I did scout around some of the other stuff on the shelves but the blasted Templars were keeping an eye on me, I found a ledger round about the dates you gave me with some sparse notes... As for that other girl… Is there any reason why all the mages you asked me to pay special attention to are female?"

"Coincidence," said Alistair, "Just coincidence…"


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Dragon 9:34 Verimensis/Wintermarch

Val Royeaux [Approximately nine months ago]

The Surgeon was not what Cullivan would have expected. Of course, he was a shem, weren't almost all of them shems here? However, he was a lean man, about a head taller than Cullivan, drab, lank grey hair of irregular length, a thin very brown face faceted by wrinkles with extremely keen blue eyes. He walked not like a scholar, but a warrior, erect and precise in his movements despite his age. He wore the surgeon's long black gown, although his appeared to be slightly dusty. He looked down at Cullivan and smiled, a hideous sight, because he only had some three crooked yellowed teeth in the front of his mouth.

"Are ye her husband?" He asked, his Orlais was rough and uncouth, his voice low.

"No" said Cullivan, "I'm her..." 'protector' or 'bodyguard' sounded far too pretentious, _keep it simple_, he said to himself, "I'm her friend..."

"A friend..." said the surgeon, "Well good for ye and good for her, I guess... I'm Younis, that's my surname." He added, he proffered Cullivan a long hard hand, Cullivan shook it limply. He had never got in to this shemlen handshaking, M Younis' felt as tough as old leather, "I might not look posh but I'm good at what I do... And fast, that's the important thing. Oh, I know what ya thinking, young elf...

Cullivan was about to object to the 'young elf' thing but bit his tongue, it would hardly be appropriate in the circumstances, _the things I do for you, Neriya,_ he thought.

M Younis continued, "I usta be a professional fighter. When I started to get too old for that kinda thing I decided to use my skills for something else, the surgeon at the tourneys took me on as an 'prentice, a thirty-six year old 'prentice... Ha... But I already had me lotsa experience... Practical experience."

Cullivan suddenly noticed that many of what he had thought originally to be wrinkles were actually scars.

The surgeon pulled out a fat roll of material from under his gown. "Where's the poor lady?" He asked.

* * *

An hour earlier the healer had retired and returned with a mixture in a cup while Cullivan and the plump midwife assisted Neriya to a bed.

"Help her drink this..." said the healer, a tall middle-aged lady with sweet dark eyes.

"What is it?" Asked Cullivan.

"Alcohol, poppy juice, mandragora extract in the main... It will put her to sleep. And, believe me, M Cullivan, she needs to sleep."

Neriya looked bad. Propped up on the pillows she was pale and her face was covered in perspiration, despite it being a rather cold day. Her eyes were even larger than usual and were beginning to look febrile. She was trembling and whimpering intermittently. But when she caught the sight of the cup in Cullivan's hand, he was relieved to see her smile, even if it was grim and forced.

"Another chalice..." she rasped.

Cullivan smiled back at her catching the reference at once, in the months they had spent together Neriya had explained everything she knew about being a Grey Warden to him and he, he had taken it all in with rapt fascination, "But this one will help you sleep through what is to come..."

"This hurts so much; I had no idea..." she said "and the baby..."

Cullivan pretended to ignore her and held the cup to her dry, cracked lips, "Drink." He commanded.

She took a sip and her face puckered up, "Maker that is so bitter..."

"Come now,_ lethallan_, fine warrior that you are, you claim to have savoured the taint?"

"The taint tasted better than this..." remarked Neriya, "at least at first..."

"Drink deep Neriya," she sighed and gestured to him to pass her the cup. He did. She took it in her trembling hands and took a long swallow.

"Well done," he said, "More."

"You are such a bastard..." said Neriya fighting the impulse to retch.

"Drink, Neriya." He urged her softly.

She drank again and then moaned, the cup faltering in her grasp.

"Almost there." He said steadying it, "Finish it..."

She scowled at him and finished it.

"Good," he said, "Very good."

"I so hate alcohol..." She whispered.

He squatted down beside her and swept a stray lock from her face. "As I told you _lethallan_, I will be here throughout..."

"That was horrible..." she said, "all this is so horrible... I would much rather be fighting darkspawn..."

"And you will again, if that is your wish."

She lay against the pillows for a while, exhausted. Then she said, "My legs..." and then "My mouth..." and finally, with a great effort, "Please tell Alistair... I love him... I do, but..."

"I will." Cullivan assured her gently.

* * *

The surgeon came into the room. Cullivan stared at him in surprise. He had pulled back his hair and tied it and it was covered by a white cloth. The dusty cape had been discarded; he was wearing a snow-white vest and matching breeches. His bare brown arms were sinewy and taunt just pure muscle criss-crossed with yet more pale scars. Cullivan did not doubt that he had solid legs to match.

He untied the roll of material and there lay a collection of a dozen delicate instruments of gleaming silverite pristinely sharpened and honed. "What lad," M Younis addressed Cullivan, "Ye think I'm some rank amata?" He grinned, his virtually toothless grin and then turned to look at Neriya.

His smile disappeared immediately, "The poor lady," he said "she looks shattered."

The healer appeared at his side she was now wearing an apron also blazing white and carrying a large dull metal container and some matching metal dishes that she set out on the side table. M Younis picked up the container and sniffed. He proffered it to Cullivan, "Fancy a drink?" He said.

The smell of undiluted alcohol coming from the container was so intense Cullivan almost took a step back. M Younis cackled. Then he turned and tipped some into one of the dishes, "This stuff will hurt ya head and then might make ye blind." he remarked then he put his hands in the dish and rubbed them together. Cullivan suddenly understood why they were like leather.

The healer did likewise with a stoic expression. M Younis gestured to Cullivan, "Young elf..."

Cullivan imitated them and after a few seconds, he felt the alcohol begin to scald his skin. He grimaced and removed his hands.

"Ya can stay 'friend' but should ye pass out ye should know that neither this lady here nor I will be able to help ye until we are done here, save for giving ya a quick kick in the googlies to see if that t'will assist ya to come to. The child comes first, the good lady elf next and lastly, ye... Those are my prioraitis."

The healer had poured some more of the alcohol in another dish; M Younis selected a very fine, very sharp looking blade and immersed it in the dish. Meanwhile the healer lowered the sheet over Neriya so she was completely naked and with a cloth dipped in the alcohol rubbed her belly just above her delicate, hairless mons pubis.

Cullivan looked at her quickly; she was so pale and helpless, her big swollen belly dwarfing the rest of her anatomy. Her face was turned away from him so he could not see her expression. Something rippled through him like a breeze on the last leaf of a tree in autumn; he wondered for a moment what it was.

Wielding the blade in his right hand M Younis approached Neriya. Cullivan mumbled a quick prayer to Sylaise but could not tear his eyes away.

* * *

It was after M Younis had slit open Neriya's womb, prised the baby from it, tied and severed the umbilical cord, removed the afterbirth, and just after he had finished stitching up the section of her abdomen with silken thread, all with incredible speed and effectiveness, that it happened. A very slight groan escaped Neriya and her whole body convulsed for a moment and then flopped helplessly.

M Younis swore.

"What, What is it?" Demanded Cullivan.

The healer stepped to one side and hid her face in her arms. Then he knew.

"No," said Cullivan, "No, no, no, no… Sylaise will not allow this… Oh lady of the hearth… Get out the way…" He said to M Younis who, completely out of character appeared to be floundering.

Cullivan pushed the surgeon to one side and placed his hands on the centre of Neriya's chest. Using, as he had been taught so long ago, a prayer to Sylaise to mark his timing, he pressed in with the heel of his hand, at equal intervals, the prescribed number. Three times ten.

Then tilting back her head, pinching her nose gently he gave her two exhalations of vitality, sharing the life-force lodged in his own lungs, again in the appropriate rhythm, praying silently for his friend and her child both as he did so.

Cullivan did this six times and then, just as suddenly as before, Neriya gasped of her own accord and the colour began to return to her sunken cheeks…

He stepped back. Both the healer and M Younis were looking at him with nothing short of awe.

"I think…" he said, bowing his head "Sylaise permitting… She should be all right now… Please do not disrupt her balance any further…" He added quietly.

"Aye," said M Younis, shaking his head, his eyes suddenly wet, "Aye…"

* * *

The next day Cullivan went in to see Neriya carrying the child. The baby girl was not at all frail he had been relieved to discover. She kicked and squalled with gusto. All healthy babies looked the same, though, in the first few days, he reflected, shemlen and Elvhenan alike, red, flushed and wrinkled with dark eyes, big mouths and small noses, although Elven babies tended to have little peaks on the tips of their ears even at birth.

If he had expected a joyous reaction from Neriya at the sight of her child he was sorely disappointed, in fact from across the room, he felt her body suddenly tense and her hands tighten into fists. She tried to smile but it just looked forced.

He thought the best was to pretend not to notice so he sat on the bed next to her and smiled at her. "How are you?"

"I've been better" she said "Now the overall pain seems to be going but my stomach is incredibly sore despite the healer's willow bark infusions… Is that?"

"This is your child Neriya, yes." He said holding her up for Neriya to see.

"She is well…"

"Yes, she is and very beautiful as you can see." He realised as he said it that he really meant it, this child was nothing to him, he was not its father, its mother was at most a friend, and yet, he found all sorts of protective instincts kicking in, "Don't you want to hold her?"

Neriya looked away and her eyes filled with tears… "I'm not sure… I don't think so… No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, I…"

"Is it because you have made up your mind to give her away…"

"I don't know," Neriya's hands began to move anxiously up and down on the bed.

"I won't pressurize you Neriya, but she needs you…"

"So that's not pressure then…"

Cullivan sighed, "I'm sorry…"

"Do you want to know what I think, Cullivan? Do you want to know what I feel?"

"Yes… I'm sure I do…" but he was not sure at all.

"I think this poor baby needs a parent that loves her, that loves her to bits as she deserves. Unfortunately, that parent is not me… As I told you, you need to find Zev…"

"Neriya, can you not even try to feed her?" He asked despairingly, "There is nothing like the nourishment of its mother's milk for any child…"

A terribly guilty expression spread over her face, "Yes. Of course. You are so right. It is wrong that she should go hungry. I'll try to do what I can…" She held out her arms and with a quiet exhalation, Cullivan placed the little girl within them.

He then went to speak to the midwife.

"She is trying, poor lamb…" The midwife told him half an hour later, "She is trying the best she can…"

* * *

Where does one begin to look for a needle in a haystack? Where, oh where, does one begin to look for an elf in Val Royeaux?

Well, to start with this was a rather distinctive needle/elf. Not all elves are flamboyantly bisexual, promiscuous and proud, in fact, only perishingly few are. Add to this that the elf in question was an Antivan in Orlais, that you had a passing, rather distinctive physical description of said elf and further, his name, then it might just be that your needle is in fact, not a needle at all but something more akin to a sore thumb.

So it was that some four hours later after setting out from the maternity home, Cullivan found himself knocking, in a quaint picturesque _h__ô__tel_ in the BoHo _quartier_, on the door of a room belonging to one Avran Zrainai.

When Cullivan rapped on the door, he heard a mumble from the other side and then it was opened by a very tanned elf in a sheet toga.

"_Allo_," said the elf in question with a thick Antivan accent. The elf looked him up and looked him down, glanced at the sword on his back, very purposely scanned his crotch area and then said.

"I take it you have _not_ come to join in the fun…"

There were some rather disturbing noises coming from the room behind him so Cullivan took a step back and gestured for M Zrainai to follow him onto the landing and to close the door behind him. M Zrainai did just that but not before he had very purposely drawn a vicious looking knife from… For the life of him, Cullivan could not guess.

"Well, _mon ami_," said M Zrainai smiling widely and then looking down and using the knife to pick at his very clean fingernails, "Would you care to explain your unexpected presence here?"

"Neriya Surana would like to see you."

"Neriya? Neriya as in Alistair's Neriya? She summons me?"

"Yes."

"From Ferelden? How do I know this is true?"

Cullivan described his favourite smell was and the first gift Neriya had given him. M Zrainai shrugged, and then Cullivan provided him with the address.

"In Val Royeaux, a _maternity_ home?" He exclaimed, his blonde eyebrows climbing towards his hairline, "Just what kind of trouble has Neriya gotten herself into?"

Cullivan shrugged, he sensed that curiosity was a main driving force for M Zrainai so he assumed that the vaguer he left things, the more likely he was to turn up. _Short and sweet_, his instinct told him, _short and sweet_.

As he turned to leave he heard M Zrainai open the door again, "That was the _gar__ç__on_ from _l'agence_, _mes amis_, I am afraid he was far from satisfactory, I will, of course, be making a complaint…"

* * *

Zevran turned up at midday the next day holding a bunch of roses almost larger than himself and, fortunately, wearing some very classy leather armour rather than a sheet.

He comported himself like a perfect gentleman, he gave a rose to the servant girl, to the midwife and to the healer, who blushed, complementing them all on their appearance.

He even extended one tentatively to Cullivan who gave him a most withering look. He took it back "Come to think of it… Perhaps not." He muttered.

Cullivan took him to see the baby first. She was curled up quietly in a cot sucking her thumb; she had been fed by a wet nurse because Neriya was unable to lactate.

Zevran thrust what remained of the roses into Cullivan's arms and carried out a minute inspection of the sleeping child.

"This is Alistair's child" he whispered, "This is most definitely Alistair's… I do not understand… What is the problem here, why is Neriya in Val Royeaux and the father in Denerim?"

Cullivan gave him a brief summary of what he knew of the situation.

"Fereldans! Who can understand them? I tried to tell Alistair once, well, admittedly that was advice on how to improve his performance... But... Would you believe that he started to whistle and refused to listen?"

Cullivan thought he certainly would, and he felt a little sympathy for Alistair. But he shook his head, which was as neutral and ambiguous, a gesture as he could muster.

Zevran sighed and retrieved the roses from Cullivan. "Take me to Neriya," He said.

Neriya smiled when they entered the room as if she discerned immediately who was hiding behind the roses. A vase was found for them and Zevran pulled up a stool to her bedside, kissed Neriya's hand, and petted it.

Neriya asked him immediately what he had been doing and he launched into an extremely detailed and vivid half-hour narrative, which, Cullivan was pleased to see, made her smile more than once and even almost made him smile several times.

Then Zev said, "And what of you, Neriya, how come I find you here with Alistair's child and not in Denerim with him fussing over you both like some old hen?"

Neriya withdrew her hand from his, looked up at the ceiling for a while, glanced over at Cullivan as if she were considering asking him to leave the room but instead asked him to close the door, which he did, and then, addressing them both, asked them to pledge not to repeat what she was about to say to anyone.

Zev touching his heart, immediately swore by his life. Cullivan by Mythal, he saw Neriya raise her eyebrows somewhat and glance at him as if to say 'there is another deity you need to tell me about…' After that, Neriya seemed content. She then told them of Alistair, Riordan, Morrigan and herself and of the events at Radcliff.

When she had finished, she looked away. Cullivan guessed she was terribly embarrassed, he could quite easily imagine that the nearly Templar King of Ferelden would feel much the same, or perhaps even worse, sometimes these things were worse for men, he reflected.

But Cullivan, who was far older than both Alistair and Neriya, and probably even considerably older than Zev, did not see that they had anything to be ashamed of. They had done their best. They had been placed in an impossible situation and chosen one unpalatable option from a menu of just two, sometimes, in life, that is what happens. He fervently hoped that they would both grow old and experienced enough to forgive themselves one day.

The effect on Zev was quite different, however, he swore a terrible oath beginning with "Brasca!" and ending with wishing ordure, several extremely unpleasant and non-consensual sexual acts and eternal damnation on the party concerned an all their ancestors.

"This is my fault," he exclaimed, "this is my fault, I knew that woman was up to something, waiting for her chance... I just did not think... I wish now I had struck her cruel, calculating little head from her pretty body and played football with it... I should have alerted you and Alistair that something was up... I..."

"And would good what that have done, Zev?" Asked Neriya softly. "How would that have helped Alistair and I?" She added, "I did not want this child but perhaps Alistair _needs_ her, she will give him the link he needs to life. She can be his anchor when I cannot... In any event, I cannot have a child of my own while seeking to kill that of another woman... If I can distance Alistair and our child from such a deed, I will be happy..."

"Neriya," said Zev sitting up straight on his stool and folding his arms over his chest, "Has it occurred to you that at this moment in time you might not be entirely well... I do not wish to be patronising but from time to time giving birth can be very traumatic and... Women's bodies and minds can take some while to recover..."

Cullivan was taken aback by Zevran's perceptiveness. He was glad that this argument that he may have been obliged to make, was being made by someone with much closer links to Neriya's past than he.

"Zev," Neriya said, "I appreciate what you are saying. You, like Alistair, lost or were deprived of your mother when young and that too, leaves marks. But you have told me several times where you grew up, so tell me did all the courtesans-"

"Whores, Neriya, whores, they would have been offended to be called courtesans..."

"... love their children?"

"Most did... Surprisingly."

"But some didn't, did they?"

Zev nodded reluctantly, "That is the truth..."

"So tell me, Zevran Airaini, what happened to those whose mothers did not love them? To those whose mothers pretended to love them, to those who were abandoned, abused, sold by their mothers..."

"Neriya... You..."

"I cannot love this child, Zevran; she is more Alistair's than mine... We are not attuned the same way... And then there is the other thing..."

Zevran sighed. "So why did you summon me, Neriya, if you are not willing to listen to me or to take my advice..."

"Why? I thought it was obvious, I need someone I trust and who knows us both to take his daughter to Alistair..."

* * *

Some four days later M Younis came by to remove the silken stitches. He seemed delighted to see Neriya looking well and with colour enlivening her cheeks and he tactfully did not comment on the baby's absence from her bedside. He introduced himself, chatted with her, and doused the wound once he had removed the stitches with honey water, bowed his head to Cullivan and then, on his way out asked to see the child.

Cullivan handed her to him and he stood for a while rocking her in his arms standing by a window, whispering things to her in a quiet voice.

"What are you saying to her?" asked Cullivan curious.

"Eh? Oh, I'm asking her to put in a good word for me…" replied the surgeon, "I have killed so many people… I was hoping that if I could save as many as I've slain, the Maker will not be too hard on me when my time comes. Children are nearer to him than we so… There is no harm in asking…"

He handed the child back to Cullivan, "I can pray for you too, should you wish," Cullivan told him, "You have done my friend and this child a great service with your skill…"

"Thank you, thank you," Said the old warrior, "I would be in your debt…"

* * *

Several days later, a severe-looking Zevran came to collect the baby. Neriya kissed her on the forehead, whispered something into her ear and draped her Grey Warden amulet around her neck.

She also handed Zev a sealed letter. Cullivan had no idea what could be in it.

"Be safe." She said to Zevran.

"I will," he replied.

* * *

The following morning Cullivan went in to see Neriya only to find her sitting on the edge of her cot fully dressed with her travelling cape on, her staff strapped to her back and Konrad's Grey Warden amulet glinting at her throat. A neat bundle lay at her feet. She was looking at her hands, opening and closing them.

"What are our plans?" He asked her.

She looked up at him and smiled dourly, "Today," she said slowly, "We begin our search for Morrigan."


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Dragon 9:34

Umbralis/Firstfall Orzammar [Present]

It had been an hour short of midnight when they reached the little market place just at the gateway to Orzammar. All the stalls were closed with the canvas coverings pulled over them.

"Pity we're running a bit late," said Alistair who seemed strangely invigorated after their visit to the tower. "This is quite lively during the day… an interesting place too, a crossroads of sort…"

He was walking very briskly with his habitual long strides and Oswyn was having not a little difficulty keeping up. "I'm so sorry," Alistair said suddenly realising and standing in the middle of the round plaza. "Sometimes I just forget…"

"Don't worry," said Oswyn, "I am highly accustomed to such thoughtlessness from my monarch…"

"And bugger you too…" said Alistair grinning.

Oswyn grumbled and approached him.

"I'm just a bit excited… I don't know why but Orz always does that for me… " His hand went to the pendant around his neck. "You know," he said, "I'm beginning to think it may be a Grey Warden thing… Proximity of Darkspawn and all that…"

They walked together more sedately towards the large gateway.

"And who might you be?" Enquired the hoary dwarven guard whose helmet fell so low over his face that only his dark beard was visible.

"Ali… The King of Ferelden…"

Two black eyes beetled up towards Alistair's face from amidst a mess of tangled hair.

"I see…" said the guard making a visible effort to appear unimpressed. "Well…" he cleared his throat, "Your Majesty… Only two of your armed men can accompany you…"

"And my friend here" said Alistair gesturing towards Oswyn, "obviously."

"Obviously." Echoed the guard.

"Now, said Alistair turning to the five guards, which two of you want the adventure of a lifetime?" Only one, somewhat gingerly, put up his hand. "Bloody hell, not very daring you lot are you… OK the volunteer and you, yes, you, the stout one at the back there. I've got a feeling the _dwarva_ will like you…"

He nodded to the guard dwarf. "Thank you, friend," said Alistair as the gate opened. "Well," He added slinging one side of his cape over his shoulder, "Here we go."

* * *

"The Hall of Paragons," said Alistair quietly, "The _dwarva_ have no religion as we would understand it, no belief in a divine entity, in an afterlife or a soul, perhaps you need to see the sky and stars to believe such things. Instead they celebrate the feats of the living, the paragons, each of them representing a particular quality or even skill that they find admirable and which contributes to the well-being of their people…"

"I don't know…," said Oswyn doubtfully looking around him and seeing rank upon rank of the solid granite statues flanking them on both sides. The odd sacred fire or devotional candle placed in front of the images cast some strange flickering shadows within the hall, "Frankly, this seems pretty creepy…"

"I wondered myself why they would put the Hall of Paragons right here, at the gates of Orzammar, but perhaps it's just for that, for protection and to inspire awe and respect in any of us Topsiders before we enter Orzammar proper… Anyway, they're just made of stone; it's not as if they are going to come alive or anything…" He paused and then said in a low, spooky voice, "Did I ever tell you about Shale and the other golems, by the way?"

"Evil, sometimes you are just evil, Alistair…"

"Oh well, it's late, let's get on to the Diamond Quarter…"

* * *

When they emerged into the Commons area Oswyn felt a little relief, just a little. This was more like a city in that there were dwellings and market stalls although there were not that many dwarves milling around.

"Orzammar now keeps general Ferelden time, so it's around midnight here too," Alistair informed him, "It's good for trade with the outside. More traditional _dwarva_ say it's the beginning of the end for the dwarven kingdoms, mind… Can't say they're not wrong…"

"Why?"

"Well, you're a sun bereft civilization, with the disadvantages and the advantages that that might entail, and suddenly you start adopting sun time? THE END, I say."

"But isn't that good for us? That they're adapting to _our_ trading patterns?"

Alistair shook his head, "Good for us in the short term, bad for them in the short term. In the long term might well be bad for them and bad for us… I mean, no Orzammar? If it didn't exist someone would have to invent it…"

"I doubt it will come to that…"

"Well, let's hope not. Perhaps I'm exaggerating, but you should see some of those abandoned Thaigs… This way."

* * *

Despite Alistair's relaxed approach Oswyn found himself hating Orzammar. The place seemed hot and stuffy. When Alistair gestured towards the proving ground and he stood on the edge of the promenade to get a better look. Then he unfortunately looked down and saw huge rivers of lava flowing unchecked far below. He made a second mistake and immediately looked upwards, towards the massive weight of Ferelden's crust bearing down upon the city. He felt trapped, breathless and dizzy, crushed from above burned/scalded/suffocated from below… He made an involuntary gagging sound.

Alistair put his arm around his shoulder, "C'mon, you're just feeling a little tired. A good night's sleep and you'll love this place in the morning…"

* * *

"So this is the dwarven Royal Palace?"

"Yep, _chez_ Harrowmont, our embassy is here and the ambassador will be putting us up for tonight…"

"And tomorrow?" Asked Oswyn dubiously.

"Tomorrow will look after itself, I'm sure."

Oswyn felt much better in the building. Not only because the palace was of itself fascinating, beautiful and exotic, the sort of magic cave he used to dream of as a child, but because, apart from the decorative multi-coloured stalactites and stalagmites, fossils and crystals embedded into the walls, with a constructed roof over his head he found it much easier to forget about the miles of oppressive raw rock hovering just above them.

Ambassador Loseley seemed amiable, if tired. Alistair, who apologised for their lateness, was shown into the embassy's 'royal' bedroom although he very generously offered it to Oswyn before retiring, "It's like a bloody girl's room," he whispered.

Oswyn had a very beautiful room just off his which was quite to his liking, so by no means felt hard done by and the guardsmen were quartered in the barracks where apparently it was customary for all night card games to take place abundantly regaled with ale.

* * *

Oswyn should have suspected that his trials would not end there, however, and he was woken next morning by Alistair, fully dressed in glossy copper-finished chain mail with violet overtones covered by a scarlet surcoat, bathed and shaved, hair neatly arranged, standing at the foot of his bed saying something about a breakfast meeting with Harrowmont.

"Did I forget to tell you? Really sorry. You should come along; I need to show you these ropes… Etiquette demands chain mail, by the way," He said fingering his own and then letting it drop, "dwarves won't mind, they'll expect it, it's what they wear as per norm. When in Orzammar… and don't forget to arm yourself, discreetly mind, you never know in this place…"

_Great. Nothing like a healthy does of paranoia to start the day._ When Oswyn emerged from the bathroom feeling barely half alive, Ambassador Looseley fluttered up to him apparently in a bit of a tizzy and told him Alistair had already left for the meeting.

Oswyn sighed inside… The ambassador ushered him to the door of wing and gave him general directions how to get to Harrowmont's private audience room before slamming it rather rudely, Oswyn thought, behind him.

* * *

Oswyn began limping down the corridors thankful at least that the floor was more or less level so it was a little easier on him than outside terrain. There were plenty of dwarves around this morning and as Alistair had told him, most were wearing chain mail, if not armour and were bristling with weapons, male and female alike curiously enough, even here, in the Royal Palace, he noted. He soon began to notice something else. He was being scrutinized and he was pretty certain it wasn't only because he was a surfacer. Groups would fall silent and look at him quietly as he hobbled by and he was sure he heard more than one nervous titter.

Eventually he came to the audience room only to discover that really in Orzammar there was no such thing as a private audience. Alistair was sitting on something resembling a low divan at the back of the room on an elevated dais and opposite him sat a dwarf on another divan with a stern nose, grey eyes and iron tinted hair in braids wearing silverite armour with black detail. Between them lay a small table, but all around them throughout the salon were knots of dwarves in animated conversation.

No sooner had he taken a few steps through the door everyone fell silent. Alistair caught his eye and Oswyn saw him suppress a twitch, Alistair then broke the silence by saying very loudly, "Ah, there's my advisor…" at the same time as he glanced at Oswyn. Oswyn took the hint, straightened himself up and walked across the floor as best he could; Alistair made a place for him on his left on the divan.

However, before he took the offered seat Oswyn stood even straighter and bowed his head to Harrowmont.

"Your Majesty."

"Lord Harrowmont… Allow me to present you, my new adviser, Oswyn of Dragon's Peak, though young, he has much experience of the world…"

Harrowmont frowned and nodded briefly in acknowledgement, a slightly younger red-headed/bearded dwarf seated to Harrowmont's left asked cheerfully, "Hunting accident?"

Oswyn consciously relaxed and smiled self-deprecatingly, "Blight accident more like…"

"I am Councillor Dulin," said the dwarf bobbing his head.

"Oswyn of Dragon's Peak…"

"Now we're all cosy and introduced," Said Alistair, "Lord Harrowmont, here was telling me there's to be a proving in honour of my visit tomorrow afternoon…"

"Wonderful…" said Oswyn. Suddenly, what must have been a serving wench put a bowl of green mushy stuff with a crude wooden spoon in it in front of him.

"Moss porridge" muttered Alistair.

Oswyn noticed that everyone else had a bowl of the porridge in front of them, Alistair's was hardly touched, even Harrowmont's and Dulin's were only half empty, _my day just gets better and better…_, he thought and began attacking the stuff with visible, if false, enthusiasm. It tasted like… Well, better not to specify, really.

"So three past midday, then, we'll both be there… Now Lord Harrowmont, is there anything this humble colleague can help you with?"

Harrowmont's reply was largely blather, much as Alistair's would be if he were to respond to the same question, Oswyn assumed. The point being, to talk up any strengths and try to conceal any weaknesses from your fellow monarch. And this, while attempting, at certain key junctures, to push your agenda and subtly hint at where you could benefit from _some, just a teeny-weeny little dab of, assistance, _while largely trying to disguise even that as something your counterpart actually needed more than you did. In other words, your basic _mine's bigger than yours_ discussion but with no show to match the tell.

Keeping half an ear open to see if the conversation ever departed from this predictable course, he continued to dig and chomp at the moss porridge while Dulin, who also seemed somewhat disengaged, scrutinized him thoughtfully and leaning over whispered:

"Do you really like that?"

"What do you think?" Asked Oswyn in a mild tone.

"I think you're trying to impress us…"

"Have I achieved that yet?"

"Almost…"

"Well I better finish it then…"

"As you will." Dulin paused, "By the way, they do say that that stuff is extraordinarily good for a man's… performance."

"What was that?" Interrupted Alistair.

"Your Majesty, I was just informing your adviser, Oswyn, here that moss porridge has a reputation for being good for some kinds of, um, performance. Although I was going to add that I was not entirely sure whether it would work for…"

"Surfacers… You mean," completed Alistair.

"Humans, Your Majesty."

"Well I don't think Oswyn has any issues there… He must be eating it either because he likes it or… No, it wouldn't be that." He eyed Oswyn who just finished the bowl and set it empty down before him.

"I must say, _I'm_ quite impressed," said Dulin.

"Anyway Lord Harrowmont, " said Alistair, "I'll certainly think over what you've said and get back to you on it before I depart. I also look forward to the provings tomorrow afternoon, but please, as I am sure Looseley must have informed you, my visit here is not worth any dwarven lives. I am sure we are going to see some very lively and engaging combat without that…"

"Of course," Harrowmont replied gruffly.

Alistair rose, nodded to Harrowmont and Oswyn rose stiffly and did likewise.

Alistair held out his arm to Oswyn and Oswyn after a little hesitation took it.

As they made their way out of the room, Oswyn muttered.

"Alistair you are a bastard…"

Alistair smiled tightly. "That I am. Everyone knows it here and in Ferelden too, and they all smile to my face now…"

"You know what I mean…"

"I know what you mean." After a few steps more, he added, "Dwarves despise what they perceive to be weakness, much as Fereldans despise bastards. What we both lack should not define us. Good on you for eating that green slop, by the way…"

"Oh, after Howe… "

"Exactly... Bloody proving…"

"I thought you said you would really enjoy it. Not that I took you at your word or anything, mind."

"I _like_ provings, we even took part in one during our campaign because all Harrow's fighters had bottled out, but… but I don't want to be made a fuss of… I'd like to be here discreetly, as discreetly as any Topsider ever can be, anyway… OK, one of your next jobs then, no more provings in my honour, no more hassle when I come here. Happy to meet Harrow anytime and chew the fat but, discreetly… Put that over to them."

Oswyn sighed, "I still don't understand why we are here…"

"Patience, you'll find out this evening… Now I buy you a drink…"

"To make up?"

"Well, at least to get that horrid taste out of your mouth."

* * *

"So what did it taste like again?"

"Like grass… that had been weed on… by a dog… a dog with scabies… which was then eaten by a cat… a cat that later barfed it all up…"

Alistair laughed. Oswyn found it impossible not to like him when he laughed, and at least he seemed intent on giving him something to do, even if he was chucking him in at the deep end (_note to self: I __**am**__ a strong swimmer…_), it was a challenge but it was interesting and perhaps something he needed… Something to do. They were sitting at the back of Tapsters Tavern trying one of the many types of ale from their carte.

"So has this stuff had any effect on you?"

"Not that I've noticed, as Dulin said, it probably doesn't work for Topsiders anyway…"

"While we're on the subject… Never made any secret of it… I like elves the best. But that's just my personal preference. Human women can be and are lovely… but dwarves… that's all sorts of goodness, just in a smaller package… And, whoa! They are feisty…"

"I guess that piece of knowledge comes from experience…"

"Not direct experience of _that_ kind, combat experience… Two of our toughest opponents here, Jarvia and Branka, were female. Fortunately most of their sisters are more amiable…"

"Something you haven't done, then."

"I was here with Neriya before and last time I was here… she'd just left me so… I threw myself into work in preference to one of those lava rivers. Anyway, we need to move on…"

* * *

The Shaperate gave Oswyn a strange feeling of déjà vu until he remembered that the place it most resembled was what he had seen of the Tower of Mages library… Alistair was deep in conversation with the head librarian or Shaper Czibor, asking for a copy of his will to be entered into the memories. It seemed to be going well, it was clear to Oswyn that in their passage through Orzammar the companions had earned a fair amount of good will and respect, which now Alistair, quite rightly, was using.

Oswyn spoke to one of the assistants, Milldrate, who explained that the Shapers although primarily scholars, were also expected to lead active lives, especially when young, and participate in expeditions into the deep roads and sometimes even battles with Darkspawn or provings in order to infuse their scholarship with first-hand experience and practical knowledge.

Milldrate put it thus, "For us there is really no distinction between experience and wisdom, experience not only comes from living but acquiring knowledge of what has gone before… Wisdom is the experience one acquires towards the end of a life well lived, an active and full life in every sense, both physical and intellectual…"

Oswyn was very impressed with this, not least because the dwarves' matter-of-fact approach, which seemed to mesh with the way he was coming to think.

He asked Milldrate the question he had been dying to ask most of the dwarves he had met, what was his view of Alistair? Milldrate cast an eye towards the young King who seemed deep in conversation with Czibor.

"His achievements are most remarkable, for a Surfacer." said Milldrate, "To be entered into the memories at such a young age as he and the Lady Neriya were and then to follow that with ending a Blight… As they did together with their companions, including, Oghren of House Kondrat… Of course, we down here have no concept of a Blight since our fight against the Darkspawn has been constant ever since their mysterious emergence, however, we recognise Blights are rare and grave events for Topsiders… And now he is King, having beheaded his rival on the floor of the Ferelden assembly…" Here a special tone of admiration entered the Shaper's voice, "that was… Extraordinary, almost dwarven…"

Oswyn found it extremely interesting that one of the deeds Alistair was less comfortable with, although he tended to talk about and revisit it a lot, should be the most admired in Orzammar.

Once Alistair had finished speaking to Czibor, they walked around the Shaperate, admiring the artefacts, carvings and manuscripts, "Even should Orzammar disappear, if the Shaperate remains it will always live… Why do the dwarves have this foresight but not us?" Asked Alistair.

"Like you said of the elves, they're older than us… As a human, I think I'm beginning to feel very small or very young…" said Oswyn. "Perhaps we need something like this in Ferelden… Yes, some of the Chantry scholars keep records and they are very good but that is always from the Chantry's perspective ultimately, and perhaps for the Chantry's use…"

"Anora says every now and then that she wants to found a university…," said Alistair.

"That might be an idea, mightn't it?"

"I think so. I think it's a good one, but other things need to be done; otherwise, it will simply be the privileged that benefit… Dwarven society may suffer from the same problem but worse. The caste system is too closed."

They came upon what appeared to be a list of dwarven monarchs etched in stone, of course, in runic with a Fereldan translation next to the names of the last six or so Kings.

"Harrow's rival was one Bhelen, he was an heir to Aeducan family," Said Alistair pointing out Endrin's name "the monarchs before Harrow and one of the oldest families in Orz, but Bhelen was… Tricksy, sly, a murderer… He nearly deceived Neriya and us and I don't think we ever forgave him for that… When the deshyrs finally voted for Harrow, he picked a fight in the assembly and was killed. That was the type of dwarf he was: Do or die. I would have hated to have to deal with a King Bhelen. HATED it. However, in the long run Bhelen may have been better for Orzammar than Harrow, he was a reformist, see, an innovator. And no hypocrite, it wasn't window dressing; he challenged the stultifying caste system by taking a duster mistress, that is a mistress from the lowest class. As I said, he would have been extremely difficult to handle, intelligent and ruthless as he was, but in the end, he may, _may_ have been better for Orzammar in that he would have given it the flexibility to survive, and may even have been better for Ferelden…"

"But we have to work with what we've got…"

"Exactly, Harrow and his proving…" He paused, "I need some lunch because somehow breakfast just didn't do it for me."

* * *

They ate a late lunch of stuffed nug in one of the places they found in the Diamond district and Oswyn was happy to discover that it was much better and much tastier than the moss porridge.

* * *

After lunch, they visited the headquarters the Grey Wardens had been allocated in Orzammar.

A visible change came over Alistair as he entered the building. Whereas before he had seemed over-excited and on-edge, in the company of the other wardens he unexpectedly relaxed. In turn, the other wardens, three dwarves and a human, all male, seemed wary of him at first, but they were soon sitting around a mess table, slapping each other on the back and re-counting Darkspawn fighting stories as if they had known each other all their lives.

Alistair, in high spirits, decided to take them all out for a drink and Oswyn who really didn't want to be a spare, returned to the embassy to take a nap. Alistair turned up there a some hours later a little the worse for wear.

* * *

At around midnight Alistair and Oswyn set off for the Commons. They stopped outside a place that looked like a shop in one of the back streets.

Alistair knocked and the door was opened by a tall man with two-day stubble, dark blond hair untidily gathered into a ponytail and a rangy build. He had sharp narrow blue eyes and a twitchy, quirky smile. Alistair embraced him briefly then introduced him to Oswyn as Dean.

The place obviously had once been a shop but had been emptied of all goods, there were a few human-sized rickety chairs thereabouts and Alistair dropped himself into one, propped up his legs on what had once been the counter and steepling his hands addressing Dean, said, "Explain to him…"

Dean motioned to Oswyn to follow him to what had been the back of the shop. Once they were out of earshot, he turned to Oswyn and said, "He feels bad about this… Someone should get it through to him that you should never feel bad for doing what is right… Perhaps you?"

Oswyn opened his hands to express his puzzlement. Dean sighed and said, "Come on, I'll show you…"

He opened a door to their left, which gave on to what was originally a storeroom. There were no sconces within in the room but from the light available from the dusty passageway Oswyn could make out that it was stacked to the high stone ceiling with crates. Crates containing glass flasks from which emanated a thin, azure, opalescent gleam.

"There are four more rooms as full as this and an additional room about half full…" Said Dean quietly.

Oswyn took it in for a while and then took a small step back. "Is that what I think it is?" He eventually asked Dean.

"Yup," said Dean.

"You mean it's…"

"Yup," repeated Dean squinting into the room, "It's Lyrium."


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Dragon 9:34

Umbralis/Firstfall Orzammar [Present]

"Lyrium," repeated Oswyn again, slightly dazed, "but isn't that very expensive?"

"Generally speaking, yes," replied Dean.

"Five and a half rooms full… How much is that exactly?"

"Difficult to know, _exactly_, obviously a lot… But there are different presentations, different strengths, some of it may not even be lyrium at all but just blue tinted water…"

"I guess the first thing then would be to work out how much there is…"

"That seems a good place to start…"

"How did you… He…" Oswyn paused and gathered himself "We, come by this?"

"He didn't tell you…"

"He did not, no."

"Bit of a long story, really…" Dean sighed. "Come…"

He ushered Oswyn into another storeroom that appeared to have been converted into a small living quarters, table, chairs, and an undersized stove. They took two chairs facing each, other, Dean repaired to a barrel in the corner of the room and poured himself something into a tankard and offered one to Oswyn who accepted.

"Not moss beer, I hope?" asked Oswyn attempting to be jovial.

"Maker, no, this is my own supply of Surfacer ale, wouldn't touch any of the dwarven stuff with a barge pole…" They drank.

"About a year and a half ago, as I understand it, our good Lord King, out there hit upon the idea of disrupting the smuggling of lyrium which was going on between Orzammar, the tower and other places. I believe his intentions were altruistic; any lyrium confiscated would be exchanged with Orlais for grain because Ferelden was facing a famine following the destruction caused by the Blight and the treasury was quickly running out of money with which to purchase food from abroad.

Well, no one had attempted anything like that before, and if you ask me, it was clear, Orz, the Chantry and the Circle were happy to turn a blind eye to any smuggling so long as all their needs were met. Goes without saying that beyond their own narrow interests none of them gave a flying fuck about Ferelden and especially those likely to die of hunger.

My view? It was a bloody brilliant idea… It was just my bad luck that I was one of the first people to be rounded up… Oh yeah, look…"

Dean pulled the sleeve of his rough linen smock right up and flashed Oswyn his biceps revealing the eight-armed deosil sunburst symbol of the Templars.

"It was quite fashionable a few years ago, some of the Dalish used to make a living out of scribing tats, four or five of us had this done the same evening. Anyway, that's me, best time of my life… Of course, by the time I was captured, I had been officially AWOL for a fair few years but was still using my connections… I was also well hitched by then to the blue-eyed beauty…" Oswyn looked confused.

"I mean addicted to lyrium. All I saw of Smarty-pants out there when I first met him was a pair of good leather boots, a very nice pair of leather boots, in fact, I'd say hand-tooled, because I was squatted shivering against the wall of that tiny lockup in Redcliffe.

Smarty-pants said something like, 'What do we have here, then?'

You know in that condescending tone of voice he sometimes has? The one that makes you clench your fists every time you hear it?"

Oswyn nodded he knew exactly the tone Dean meant although it did not have that precise effect on him.

"I said to him in a pretty tiny voice, 'I'm not a "what", I'm a who…'

'You could've fooled me…' he said, and then he hunkered down to get a good look at me, probably caught a fair whiff too, he shook his head 'No, you still look like a _what_… A "what" with a problem, in fact…'"

Dean pulled a face and took a deep swallow from his tankard. "Bastard… He was right, of course…

Then he said 'Question is, is it the stocks or is there something there I can use?'

I was still getting annoyed especially since even I'd heard he was an almost Templar himself, perhaps he had some sort of grudge against us? But I was relieved to hear that because I thought basically it would be the noose…

He stood up, 'Tell you what, _what_, I'll let you cool your heels in here for a few days and then I'll make a decision. You seem to have a cold or something and it wouldn't be fair on you to decide today.'

Then he talked to the jailer, the snub-nosed one who seems to have the constant crotch itch, but not today, nooo, and he seemed to be giving him some coins, I can't hear what he's saying so I yell.

'I'm not a _"what"_, my name is Dean, bloody DEAN, D-E-A-N, geddit?'

He sauntered back over to me, looked down and said, 'OK, Dean, Dean it is. You need to calm down. You're going to be here a few days and I know it's going to be tough. I don't want to see it; I've pretty much seen it all before, anyway. I'll come back when you're better and we'll have a serious talk. Good luck.'

And then he buggered off, happy as could be."

Dean looked into the middle distance and then smiled and drank. "Never expected to see the blighter again… I thought I'd die in there over the next few days, I got the shakes and the visions and the throwing up…Crotch Itch was like a mother to me, though…You know, the kind of mother that cracks her child's head against the nearest wall and kicks him in the balls to get him up in the morning?" Dean laughed.

Actually, when he thought about it, that was a pretty good joke so Oswyn smiled.

"So about two weeks later he came back with this rogue all clad in black leather and asked Crotch Itch,

'Is he better?'

Crotch Itch grunted in response, 'Like you said, Sire, he had the best care…'

I was napping but that roused me and I shouted 'You fucking bastard lying hound Crotch Itch!'

Smarty-pants came over to me and said 'Are you saying this honourable public servant is telling me, his King, an untruth?'

'Of course I bloody am… Crotch Itch wouldn't recognise the truth if he came home and found it bonking his old dam!'

He looked me up and looked me down and said 'Hmmm, you do seem the worse for wear…',

I said, 'I might be, but I'm clean now, so let me out like you said you would…'

'I didn't say I would release you, did I?'

'Not exactly,' I replied, 'but it was worth a try…' He thought that was funny.

Then he got all serious, 'Can you fight?'

'Yeah, I can bloody fight…' I said.

'What are you Dean, two-hander?'

I really appreciated that he'd actually remembered my name but I'm determined not to show it, 'Yes, Sire'

'Ooooooo, "Sire" have I just gone up a notch in your estimation, Dean?' He said leaning on the bars right in front of me.

'Just get me a bloody sword…'

'You heard the man, Cro…, I mean Burns, find us a two handed sword.'

'Yes, Sire' Crotch Itch says and trotted out.

'Does no-one here know it's "Your Majesty"?' He said to the rogue who cracked this humungous grin right in his face

'Apparently not, Alistair'

'Huh.' he said."

Dean got up and refilled from the barrel. Oswyn shook his head turning down another drink, he had had quite enough to drink today and he felt the need to be able to think clearly.

"Could you possibly get me some water?"

Dean stared at him as if he were mad, then seemed to relent. "Hang on, I'll see if I can find some."

After some ten minutes, he came back.

Oswyn looked into the tankard.

"It's all right, you know. You should have gathered by now that poison is not my style… I'm more of an upfront kind of guy…" Said Dean with no maliciousness whatsoever, "There are fresh water streams down here, I'll show you later… So eventually Crotch Itch comes back with a sword and hands it to Smarty-pants, he has a look at it, makes sure it's straight and such and then hands it to me:

'Not perfect but I think it will do'

I had a look at the thing, it's obviously ancient, ancient tat, but hell, imprisoned Templars cannot be choosers.

'It'll do.' I confirmed.

'OK so now I want to see you fight Lawler, here.' Meaning the rogue.

Crotch Itch opened the cell and out we go. It was a nice day I noticed, I don't think I'd noticed what the weather was doing for a few years, a bit cold mind, but I guessed I'd soon warm up. We went to the back of the village, behind the Chantry, there's a little clearing there. Smarty-pants leant against a tree and crossed his arms over his chest. The rogue gave me a roguish leer and I started limbering up, squatting, stretching, jumping up and down and such.

'C'mon get on with it already' said Smarty-pants.

'We are not tarts in a brothel performing for His Majesty's pleasure.' I told him.

He grinned as if he were picturing that in his head, 'If you were I'd be a darn sight more interested…' He said.

Eventually I picked up my sword and made a motion to the rogue to indicate I'm ready. Maker! Now I had to wield the bloody thing I realised it weighed a ton, I appreciate the jail and the lyrium had really done for me. This was a terrible mistake and I glanced at Smarty-pants suddenly meeting his eyes, he nodded as if he could read exactly what I was thinking. Lawler was already circling me like a jackal and didn't delay in making a quick sally, it's probably a feint but I felt obliged to respond. The only advantage this weapon gave me is reach so I used it to make a large arcing sweep in the rogue's direction… Well the whole fight was a mess, I was a mess. I ended up on the ground with the rogue's sword at my throat and him saying 'yield'.

In the end Smarty-pants called him off, came over and offered me a hand to get to my feet. Once I'm up he even began to brush me down…

'That… I am not at my best, Sire or Your Majesty, or…'

'I know.' He replied. 'I was just wondering how long it would take you to become aware of what a pointless exercise this was, you realised almost straightaway but you saw it through. Power to you, I guess… And that jailer…' He added standing upright, 'Did not spend the money I gave him on feeding you up. _I_ should have known better… Anyway… Lunch?'

We had lunch in that tavern on the hill overlooking the village. The one owned by a girl. It was a good lunch and I was ravenous, Smarty-pants, or Alistair as he was now letting me call him seemed to enjoy watching me eat. He bought me several beers too, I became aware that my sense of taste had been stunted for months, years perhaps, but had now returned. The local people seemed to know him well and, whilst deferential, kept their distance and did not make too much of a fuss over him.

'You enjoyed that…' He said once I'd finished, 'Nothing like good tasty food, is there? Or very little, anyway… Now, we're going to go over to the Chantry, there's a novice who is going to take down everything I want you to tell me…'

Smarty-pants was very thorough in his request for information, on the walk over to the Chantry he started counting out on his fingers exactly what he wanted to know, contacts, names, dates, quantities, etc I was aware that I was being used, but frankly how could I resist? I'd had a hard life and the times I had been flattered or buttered up weren't very numerous… And what the heck, I was clean, life was looking good. Help the guy my instincts told me, so I agreed.

If I was hoping for a female novice I was to be disappointed but I guess it made sense, the novice was actually a rather large guy who looked as though he could handle himself and he'd been thoroughly briefed, he had list of points to which he referred every now and then. It took us ages, about five hours, I asked for a beer at one point and it was brought to me no problem. Another meal, plainer than the last but again, no problem. Once we'd finished it was evening and the novice suggested I should spend the night in the male novices dormitory in the Chantry while my statement was reviewed. I agreed.

I attended the dawn chant with the novices, it had been ages since I had last attended the chant, I almost found myself crying, almost…" Dean took a swig from his tankard.

Oswyn was looking at him rather bemusedly,

"Nearly there now," Dean reassured him, "I know it's getting late and milord must be tired."

"No, I'm quite interested in your story; it is giving me a lot of background to this whole business…"

"Well anyways, when we left the chapel I was gently steered by that novice towards the same room we were sitting in the day before. There was Alistair carefully going through my statement, he thanked the novice and the door closed behind me. He congratulated me on attending the chant. He asked me several more questions, questions about certain people's private habits, their families, if they had any weaknesses and such and he made the notes on the statement himself. Another hour and a half or so… Amazing how long these things take… Once I'd signed it and we'd finished, he stretched looked me in the eyes and said,

'Thank you, Dean, thanks a lot, you've been incredibly helpful, I mean it… Now, you're free to go… But I don't want to see you around here ever again…"

I slumped on the table opposite him and said, 'I can't…'

'Why not?' He asks starting to make some additional notes in the statement's margins…

'I can't' I said again.

'I heard what you said the first time, Dean and my question is, why not?' He looked over at me.

'I… I…'

'Well?' he said crossing his arms over his chest.

'I have a daughter…'

'Good for you…'

'Wait,' I interrupted, 'she can't leave this area… So I can't…'

'Where is she? Why-' He asked.

'Don't you get it yet, Your Majesty?'

He shook his head. I pointed in what I assumed is the right direction. 'Over there, sitting in the middle of Lake Calenhad…'

'Ah…' he said." Dean bent his head back and took a long swallow from the tankard.

"I see." Said Oswyn.

"Cut a long story short. I've been helping with this stuff for over a year now both here and sometimes on the ground. It's actually been fun, working the other way around. The operation has been successful, too successful, perhaps. He made his trades for grain and it went very well at the beginning but there's only so much trade you can do one-way if you've good supplies before the prices start slipping, that's why we have this surplus… I guess you're here to help us decide what happens next. Also, he made me a promise, he didn't have to but he did, and I intend to keep him to it…"

Things began to come together a little more for Oswyn. He shrugged, "Seems you know Alistair for longer than I do, he doesn't appear to be the type not to keep a promise…"

"I know, I know, it's just I get antsy every time I think about Helena in that place… I know what Templars are like; I am one for the love of Andraste, still, in my soul at least… How some of them talk about mages, especially the females, heck, sometimes even… Shouldn't go there, should I?"

"You should not. It's unnecessary…"

* * *

Neriya was peering at him with those dark eyes of hers. For some reason they both seemed to be standing on a narrow ledge, somewhere in the deep roads overlooking a chasm full of gloom.

"You have to be careful, Alistair, very careful…" she was saying to him.

"Of course," he heard himself reply, his words full of a confidence that he really did not feel, "of course… but it would be helpful if…"

"Because you are looking after our child, Alistair, because she needs you and…" Neriya continued as if she hadn't heard his reply, "Ah…"

Alistair looked over at her quickly was she slipping? No, an arrow appeared to have struck her left flank and she was struggling to dislodge it… She was wearing a pale robe and as he looked, he saw half of it begin to turn dark red. Where had it come from? Was there something moving in the chasm down below them?

Alistair made a motion to move along the ledge to get to her, but suddenly he was holding… Their child and she was crying. For a moment, he looked down at her flushed, tiny face in awe. He wanted to clasp her to him to console her but he realised he was in full armour so he could only hold her gently against his hard breastplate taking care not to crush her and not to loose his balance as he inched back towards his lover. Meanwhile Neriya was moaning and thrashing, looking around her desperately, obviously in a lot of pain.

Suddenly another arrow arched out of the shadows followed by another and another, Alistair squatted holding his body over their child's, he heard an arrow buzz a few inches from his ear and broke out in goose bumps feeling a cold sweat trickle down his back, wishing he had a helmet.

Neriya laid slumped back against the rock face moaning softly when lights began to appear down below. Alistair remains on his haunches clasping Niamh who seemed to have fallen silent. In the light Neriya looked pale and drained, her face had gone a greyish waxy colour, her robe was now almost completely red and stuck to her skin, He could make out the precise shape of her small breasts under it, she was shivering convulsively, hands gripping the arrow. If only he could touch her, he extended an arm… but she was just beyond his reach…

As the lights began to spread he saw the chasm below them was filled with hundreds of Darkspawn thousands of them, wriggling and writhing like maggots in a carcass, and then he heard the humming sound that soon become an irritating droning like the noise a mosquito makes just before it bites. He pulled his daughter tighter to him. They would never get her; he would… before they got her.

"Do you hear that?" he asked Neriya, "do you hear that?"

"Ye-es" Neriya hissed in reply, her teeth were chattering.

"I think…" he said, "I think, if we keep quiet, if we…" He shook his head to try and get rid of the incessant hum that seemed to have bored its way inside his skull and was stopping him thinking straight but it was useless… "If we…"

And suddenly there was an ear piercing scream a shout a wail that went on and on… The child… he thought.

* * *

Someone was shaking him and for a moment, he thought he would fall, "Alistair…" said a deep voice, he realised that there was nowhere to fall, that… "Alistair… By the Maker, I thought I had finished with all this when I left the Templars…"

Dean was squatting down in front of him his head tilted to one side. "Oswyn has gone to fetch you some water… For some reason he thinks that will do you good… Me, I think you're hopeless, what has a mere cub like you got to squall about at night-time?"

Alistair covered his eyes because even the dim light coming from Dean's oil lamp was at the moment too much for him. He realised they were in the dormitory they had set up in Jarvia's former hideout. He also realised the sheets around him were sopping. He hated the night sweats almost as much as the nightmares they came with. He felt shivery and humiliated.

Nevertheless, Dean deserved some sort of reply, "Oh I only killed a fucking arch demon… Guess _real_ Templars do that everyday before breakfast, ha?" he said weakly.

"You don't want to know what _I_ do before breakfast, lad…"

"Probably not." He agreed.

Behind Dean, he saw Oswyn, "Alistair are you all right? You were screaming as if you were in pain… I… brought you some water…"

Alistair rubbed his eyes and took the cup Oswyn proffered. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Oswyn with this freaky stuff, "It's just this Grey Warden thing," He explained lamely and drank, the water felt fresh and did do him some good after all the alcohol, "It's probably because I'm nearer here to any Darkspawn than I usually am…"

"We all have our nightmares." Said Oswyn philosophically.

"Tell me what your nightmares are and I'll tell you who you are… That's what my old dam used to say, anyway…" Added Dean.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

Dragon 9:34

Umbralis/Firstfall Orzammar [Present]

They woke up relatively late which was probably unsurprising given the disturbed night they had had. Alistair had managed to get back to sleep but was still looking the worse for wear, as was usual after a Darkspawn dream, or were they dreams at all? Perhaps they were just a form of involuntary knowledge sharing dressed in the raiment of a dream so his human mind could comprehend them? In which case such tiredness would make sense, his mind rather than resting was being exploited and used against his will…

When he had the time, he needed to explore all this a little deeper, the Grey Wardens must have wise men in their ranks after all, people who could attempt an explanation of this phenomena.

Dean made Topsider porridge for breakfast in the makeshift kitchen he had a sack of oats in one of the storerooms for that purpose and they ate it with a spoonful of honey, another luxury in Orzammar.

Alistair apologised to them both for waking them up and Dean and Oswyn just shook their heads. Each of them had suffered nightmares of their own in the recent past; Alistair wondered what that said about Ferelden and how long such scars would take to heal… His generation's natural lifetime at least, he assumed, some thirty to forty years. A sad thought.

After breakfast Alistair and Oswyn set about washing the bowls spoons and tankards while Dean brewed them some herbal tea based on a mixture of common herbs that he said had been passed down to him from his mother and which he swore was good for purifying the blood and warding off any germs. Dean was turning out to be a bit of a mother hen but Alistair recognised in him the resourcefulness of the trooper who was used to making do and living off the land as indeed he and the companions had done for almost two years.

Once they were again sitting around the table, Alistair turned to Oswyn and said quietly:

"Tell Dean about Helena."

Oswyn evinced no surprise at this request and laying his hands flat on the table in front of him began to recite from memory, "She was born in 9:20 which makes her 14 her mother was a mage living in the tower, father unknown," Oswyn glanced at Dean, "her mother, Matilda, never disclosed who he was, apparently this is not uncommon. Her mother died in childbirth. Helena is predominantly a healer and very docile unlike many of the young mages she has never misbehaved or attempted to rebel. She passed the Harrowing about four months ago—"

"Oh thank the Maker, thank the Maker and sweet Andraste… I was so worried…" and then unexpectedly Dean lowered his face into his arms and his shoulders started heaving. Oswyn and Alistair exchanged an uncomfortable look and then Alistair patted him on the back, Dean continued sobbing for a fair few minutes. Then he sat up his face red and swollen he wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve. "I'm sorry," He said, looking at Oswyn, "Please continue…"

"There is not that much left to tell…" Said Oswyn softly, "Now she is a fully-fledged mage and has been allocated her own chamber on the mages floor… There is a suggestion in her records that she would make a good tutor for the younger mages… Umm, that's it."

"So whatever happens, she's safe…" Added Alistair, "Nothing can touch her now."

"I still want her out of there…," said Dean, "But this deserves some kind of celebration. I know it's a bit early in the day but…" he dashed out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with a dark green bottle containing a murky liquid. "One of my brothers used to make the basic alcoholic decoction whereas I would add an herbal brew to it similar to the tea, I still have three bottles left, and it keeps for ages, if well sealed…" He got them some cups and poured three shots. "For Helena…"

Alistair and Oswyn both toasted Helena. The liquor was unexpectedly good, Alistair thought, whereas the first flavour was almost overbearing sweetness, in a second wave the subtle combination of the herbs kicked in, and lastly it left a hot tang in the mouth and throat like all good alcohol should, but it _was_ a bit early in the day, even by his standards.

"I have to go," he said, "I need to visit the other Grey Wardens, Oswyn, you have the morning off… I'll see you at the proving at half three, Dean… We have to talk later."

"And there he goes…" Said Dean once Alistair had left. "One moment he's Mr Smooth, the next he's screaming in his dreams, and then you hear all these rumours about him and women…"

"Most of which are not true," remarked Oswyn.

"But isn't he a bit of a dog?" Asked Dean.

"Well, I would say you both share an inordinate affection for mages…"

Oswyn shook his head refusing a second shot so Dean just poured himself one and tossed it back alone. "To mages, the sweetest and most difficult females in existence…"

* * *

Since he had the morning off Oswyn was sorely tempted to go topside and visit the market at the gates of Orzammar but, though this option was enticing, thinking it over he judged that doing so might interfere with his acclimatization to the dwarven realm and so he decided instead that he would re-visit what he had found to be the most interesting place in Orzammar so far: The Shaperate, where he asked Milldrate to bring him all the tomes they had on lyrium in the Fereldan tongue.

He was surprised there were so many.

Three o'clock found Oswyn on the promenade having spruced himself up at the embassy walking towards the proving arena. As soon as he entered the public area he became aware that any penchant the Fereldan aristocracy might show towards gambling and wagers was as nothing compared to the taste the _dwarva_ showed for such activities, the air of excitement in the arena was palpable and it was clear that the tradition was to dress up for the occasion with an abundance of fancy multi-coloured armour and weaponry on display.

He had gotten pretty used to the staring now and he had observed that if he ignored it, it led to him being that much more quickly ignored in turn.

Again, he noticed how freely males and females mixed in what in Ferelden would be a predominantly male environment. Interesting. He also observed that the females in the arena tended to prefer a more feminine dress style with silks, taffetas and velvet being popular all complimented by the most exquisite and elaborate jewellery such as richly gemmed rings, collars, pendants and earrings, although some continued to stick resolutely to armour.

He had been approached by no less than four bookmakers offering him odds on that afternoon's tourney before he got to the Proving Master who was dressed in an elaborate scarlet and silverite splint mail, to ask him for directions to the royal box.

* * *

When he reached it, he found Harrowmont seated gravely in the place of honour pondering a document and Alistair, again clad in the same copper chain mail but this time with a purple velvet surcoat, which really complimented his burnished gold hair, flushed with excitement and looking much better than he had first thing that morning. On seeing Oswyn, he immediately took him to one side,

"Can you put this on Lady Adal Helmi?" He asked handing him a pouch full of coin, "It would be somewhat tasteless, I think, for me to place a wager openly in a proving held in my honour but… She's the only female team captain taking part and I, well… There's twenty-five gold in there."

Oswyn frowned, "It is a mug's game, betting…"

Alistair looked surprised, "I didn't know you were so puritanical about this Oswyn… I used to make wagers all the time with Neriya, it's a soldier's habit, I think, it made things more interesting, _even more_ interesting, I should say… Of course it was just small change then and the best bets weren't even in coin, but, nevertheless…"

"Oh, it's just a personal rather strongly held opinion, house always wins and all that, but I have no objections, so long as you are not betting the entire contents of the treasury… Do you want to wager on a straight win or something more complicated?"

"I'm a simple man, straight win."

"Will do."

Oswyn returned a little later, "Best odds I could find were 2.5:1 she's not the outright favourite but not the underdog either."

"That's fine. Dulin's been explaining to me that the format this proving is going to take. Apparently, they call it a 'lessening', and it's considered the most exciting arrangement for a minor proving of this kind. Four teams of four people start, only the two teams winning their round then go to the next round, so two are eliminated entirely almost at the outset. The next round the two remaining teams are allowed to field three members. Then follows a round where there are only two members for each team and lastly there is a final where the team captains face off.

Three points are allocated for victory in the single combat, two for the paired combat and one for the three-member team bout. If the result is a draw on points then there is a finale where the two complete four-combatant teams square off against each other, the winner taking all. I have the right of it, don't I Dulin?" Said Alistair turning to the dwarven councillor.

"Indeed, Your Majesty," replied Dulin.

Alistair took the seat to Harrowmont's right with Dulin who had obviously been charged with explaining to him the fine points of the proving to his left. At Harrow's foot there sat a youngish unbearded blonde dwarf (his amanuensis, a trainee from the Shaperate explained Dulin). Oswyn was quite content to sit a row below Harrow, Alistair and Dulin.

Harrowmont seemed to have brought along a month's worth of paperwork and discretely started going through it once he had greeted Alistair and Oswyn.

The first round was between the teams of Ovor Dorsten and Alon Medra. Apparently, as Dulin explained, the Dorstens were relative newcomers to the warrior caste, tracing their ascent to it from the smith caste back a mere few centuries. The Medras', on the other hand, had been traditionally affiliated to House Aeducan and even boasted that they could track their ancestry back to Kiotshett, reputed to be the founder of the caste, although House Medras had taken a bloody nose of late as it had sided with Bhelen Aeducan and had therefore fallen out of favour with ascent of House Harrowmont. Alon was, in fact, the second scion of House Medras, his elder brother Dargan having lost his life in the struggle between Bhelen and Harrowmont some years earlier.

From what Alistair could determine the Dorstens were rather traditional dwarven fighters with a hammer, a mace and two swordsmen, the most novel of whom had some assassin training and therefore occasionally used stealth.

On the other hand, the Medras' were innovative and their files included a rather elderly Elven mage. Alistair would have thought that this would put them at a disadvantage given the reputed resistance of the _dwarva_ to all kinds of magic, however, the elf was a fast caster, if somewhat basic, relying mostly on elementary spells, but the sheer novelty of dealing with a spell weaver caused havoc in the Dorsten ranks. Alon himself was an imposing figure with a coal black beard, wild braids knotted with gold skeins and shiny brown enamelled armour who wielded his serrated war axe with singular ferocity and had taken the wise step of assigning his second, a lithe, for a dwarf, speedy swordsman to protecting the mage.

For Alistair the outcome of this bout was a foregone conclusion within five minutes of its start. It was to the Dorsten's side's credit; however, that it took Alon and his warriors over twenty minutes to overcome them.

When the Proving Master announced Team Medras' victory, Alistair saw Harrow look up from his paperwork and frown.

* * *

Alistair had far more interest in the next round between Lady Helmi's side and that of one Erent Morgyth. The Morgyths were an old warrior caste family if not quite as ancient as the Medras', and, unlike them, their glory days were well behind them although they had always managed to cling on to a respectable middling position. Young Erent brandished a lethal looking crossbow.

The Helmis on the other hand, although one of the strongest Noble Houses in Orzammar, were nothing short of radicals by most accounts, because they had dared to name one of their daughters their warrior captain whilst her elder brother and the family's deshyr, Denek, politicked in the taverns advocating the end of the caste system.

"I think I met her last time I was here," said Alistair, "I certainly know the brother, he stood us a few pints when we were virtually penniless. I'm overdue returning the favour."

"Oh you can find him in the same place as usual," Replied Dulin nonchalantly, "Holding forth on the same preposterous ideas to the same riff-raff… I much prefer milady, now there's a true dwarven battle maiden."

Alistair nodded diplomatically. Adal Helmi was wearing a very simple bronze toned armour and wielding two rather strange looking daggers. Her companions included another female brandishing a maul, a Silent Sister, Dulin explained, Alistair had some familiarity with the order because Neriya had fought one of the sisters when the companions had visited Orzammar, a rogue sword fighter and an archer.

The Morgyths fielded a human Ash Warrior with a Mabari, this fascinated Alistair because he had spoken to some of those tribesmen before Ostagar and they had explained that their fighting style derived from the teachings of one Luthias Dwarfson, a human/dwarven halfling who had been schooled, in turn, by a dwarven princess. The fighting style was now returning to its source. He made an observation to this effect to Dulin.

"Yes," said Dulin, "One of the reasons the Morgyths were chosen to take part was that we believed the human warrior and his Mabari would be of interest to you…"

This thoughtfulness impressed Alistair; perhaps there was hope for Harrow after all? He stole a glance at the dwarven king who was deep in discussion with his secretary.

Unfortunately, the Morgyths were no match for Adal's very disciplined side although Alistair was somewhat relieved that the Mabari ended the round virtually unscathed. Adal had an ear-splitting battle cry that cancelled out any effect wrought by the hound. For the first time Alistair was able to appreciate just how well designed, the arena was to disseminate sound. Erent was too jumpy to handle the crossbow effectively and all those quarrels he managed to loosen missed. Finishing off, the silent sister dealt him a rather bruising hit on the side of his head with her maul and the whole crowd, including Alistair, winced.

There was a quarter of an hour break before the next round; Alistair hoped Helmi's side were using it to catch their breath. He went and sat next to Oswyn who remarked he rather admired the way he had handled Dean.

"Oh, that," Alistair said, "I recalled this old Trevinter story I was told when I was a child about the sun and the wind duelling to see who could get a traveller to remove is cloak first? The wind used its force and exhausted itself but it only managed to get the traveller to wrap his cloak around himself even tighter, whereas the sun just shone, the traveller got hot and took the cloak off… Dean's still a Templar on the inside even if he deserted, there was some untapped loyalty and pride there… Yes, I know we were pretty brutal with Bann Walford but we were in a hurry… If you have more time available, you can arrange things another way…"

"But this promise…"

"Yes, that could be tricky; I probably got carried away… Too sun like…"

From the centre of the arena, the Proving Master announced the next bout.

* * *

Adal had decided tactically to concentrate on melee, as the combatant she had let go was the archer. Alon, on the other hand had retained the mage. Adal, the silent sister and the rogue swordsman began circling Alon the mage and the lithe dwarf swordsman. Alon and his second took it more or less in turns to launch various sallies and feints and break the encirclement.

"Tell me," asked Alistair, "Does the team captain have to fight in all the bouts? I'm fairly certain they would have to, but…"

"Yes" replied Dulin, anticipating his next question, he continued, "But if the captain is injured and some of the team are still able to fight then, they will be allowed to continue, should the captain die however…"

"Team loses."

"Yes."

"But no-one is dying today… We hope."

Just then from down below there was a flurry of movement.

The silent sister got just a little too close to Alon and he went for her with a blistering axe attack. This allowed Adal, who up until then had not shown herself to be particularly fast, to dodge the lithe dwarf and assault the mage putting him out of action, Alistair jumped to his feet, his cheeks flushed and rosy, as did most of the crowd: "Go!" he yelled.

Oswyn noticed that those sitting close to the box once they had recovered from their own excitement seemed amused by the young human king's. Meanwhile the Helmi's rogue swordsman went to the sister's assistance and attempted to fend off Alon. The sister walking backwards under Alon's assault tripped, but then Adal and her rogue swordsman, as if in agreement, leaving the sister to Alon, attacked the lithe dwarf.

It was a rather brutal decision but perhaps a necessary one, the sister defended herself as best she could from the ground but was eventually taken out. However, Alon turned around only to find himself faced by Adal and the rogue determined to press home their advantage and was obliged to quickly surrender. One point to House Helmi.

A twenty-minute break. Traditionally, the breaks got five minutes longer the longer the tourney progressed to allow the contenders some additional recovery time, but not too much, Dulin explained.

* * *

Despite his reservations about the fact that the tourney was depriving his visit to Orz of the discretion he had hoped for, Alistair found himself enjoying it thoroughly. The participants were varied and gutsy but also the logistics involved in fielding an ever-diminishing side added an intellectual dimension to it. It was as important for the contenders to be able to anticipate whom their adversary would select for the next round, as it was to put spirit into the skirmishing.

"Three gold," Alistair said to Dulin, "that Alon will bring back the mage."

"Done." Said Dulin.

Alon brought back the mage and Dulin, with a good-humoured chuckle paid up. Adal in turn, brought back the bowman, obviously the sister was unable to perform, but she would have done better to bring back the rogue, thought Alistair, and engage in melee fighting again, which seemed to be her strong point.

There ensued a rather tedious thirty minutes of 'combat' in which Adal rather than confronting Alon directly seemed intent in giving him the run around. Finally the additional weight given to Alon's side by the mage who proved himself to be quite resourceful at the end of the day, took its toll on Lady Helmi and her unsophisticated archer.

House Medras, announced the Proving Master, now stood at two points to House Helmi's one. There was a twenty-five minute break.

"You put money on House Helmi?" Asked Dulin.

"I did, indeed."

"Good for you, I did too. You know something?" Alistair shook his head, "Alon Medras really loves that shiny armour of his and his gigantic axe but together they weigh an awful lot. I think Adal might have been playing to that. It's just the sort of thing she would do…"

"Let's hope…" Said Alistair.

* * *

When Lady Adal Helmi and Alon Medras came out it seemed that Alistair, Dulin and perhaps even Harrow were going to be disappointed. Everything about Adal's posture said she was exhausted.

"Typical woman" Alistair heard one of the nearby spectators mutter gruffly, "No stamina."

On closer observation, however, Alistair was not so sure, she seemed to be playing up, she was a bit of an actress, he thought. Adal and Alon bowed to the audience and then squared off and… Adal started running. Well, not actually running but moving very fast so Alon was compelled to follow her lugging the war axe.

Next to him, Dulin allowed himself a low chortle. "Here we go. She has a lovely pair of heels that one and she always travels light…"

They were at that for some twenty minutes after which Alon, who had not scored a single hit began to curse and swear at Adal most grievously. In response she just laughed, a surprisingly light laugh considering the strength of her battle cry.

"I apologise" Dulin said to Alistair, "this is pretty tedious…"

Alistair smiled, "It's good to see different techniques in play, and Milady certainly prefers the long game, though…"

After some time someone yelled from the opposite side of the proving ground "Get on with it!" little by little, the cry was picked up all over the arena until it became a din.

Alistair sat back, "Let's see what they do now…"

Lady Adal's response was clear; she put her right arm up and thrust her middle finger into the air turning around leisurely to ensure everybody got a good view. Meanwhile Alon, bit by bit, started to creep up on her. When she turned towards the royal box, Alistair rose to his feet and began to slow clap her. He could have sworn she yelled something that sounded suspiciously like "bugger you" in response but it was muffled by her helm.

Suddenly Alon rushed her, almost as if she had seen him coming she stepped aside and as he brushed past her turning quickly and dealing him two blows with her knives on his back. Alon screamed with rage and frustration and did a rapid about turn but was not quite quick enough, this time Adal had him on the side. Alon's axe buried itself in the sand of the arena and he growled impotently, all the combativeness seemed to drain away from him, he made one last attempt to life the axe and managed to raise it above his head but Adal with one of her screams charged and crashed into him causing him to overbalance and tumble to the ground. It was over.

* * *

_Sixty-five gold and fifty silver, not bad for one day's earnings_ thought Alistair.

In person, Alon Medras was far more tractable, humorous even, than he appeared to be in the arena. The lithe dwarf was respectfully standing behind him holding his massive war axe and upon Alistair's congratulations Alon simply opened his arms shrugged his shoulders and in a deep voice rumbled, "What can I say, Your Majesty, women! Can't live with them, can't live without them!"

His armour was quite a work of art although somewhat chipped and dented by the recent combat and when Alistair complemented him on it, "Pretty armours will be my downfall… Your chain mail isn't half-bad either… For being Surfacer made, that is… If you really want some good stuff, though, you should get it here. Nothing better. Now we shouldn't keep the Lady waiting…" He remarked glancing warily behind him.

Lady Adal Helmi pulled off her helmet, revealing a perky oval face with a wide mouth and deep dimples that seemed made for mischievous expressions. Perhaps, reflected Alistair, a sense of humour was the greatest unacknowledged asset of all dwarven fighters. Her brown hair was styled very simply in a ponytail and her face framed by a straight fringe.

"I apologise," she said blinking, "for having bored Your Majesty."

"Never apologise for a winning strategy," Alistair replied laughing, "Impatience has probably lost far more battles than cowardice…"

"I agree," she replied, "I tend to do things my own way. Today, it paid off."

He handed her the official prize of a specially inscribed sword and she stood for a few moments grinning and waving it over her head acknowledging the cheers from the crowd, who seemed to have come around to her after all. Her glee was contagious.

Then he produced the chunky ring with the large emerald he had brought that morning from one of the stalls in the commons. She blushed, of all things, and extended her left hand.

A wide hand, he thought as he took it, strong and hard, stubby fingers, he noted, nothing like Neriya's, a melee fighter's hands. He slid the ring onto her index, thankfully, it fit, he held her hand a little longer than he should have done and she looked up at him a thoughtful expression suddenly flitting over her face. "I am sorry," he muttered releasing it and she smiled broadly flexing her fingers. Somehow, it seemed to be a very sensual gesture.

"Perhaps…" she said softly. "You should drop by later to help me celebrate my victory… Or, you might wish to help me out of my armour in a few moments downstairs…"

Alistair almost choked, he was well aware that dwarves were frank and forward but he was not expecting a proposition of this kind in such an open forum, "I don't know." He mumbled.

Lady Helmi cocked her head insouciantly, "Oh I can assure you I am not half as boring in private as I am in the arena…"


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

Dragon 9:34

Umbralis/Firstfall Orzammar [Present]

Dolgan Harrak, duster and Grey Warden seemed to be taking in the view from the Diamond Quarter. "I've never stopped being chuffed by the fact that a brand such as me can now live here…"

Alistair thought he had never seen so much tattooed skin on a living being. Unlike the Dalish who seemed to confine their skin markings to certain body areas, the dwarf appeared to covered in obscure symbols from head to toe, mostly runic and geometric but some specifically dwarven pictograms were also present, flagons and such. He must be quiet a sight naked, Alistair mused and then quashed that thought.

If Alistair had ever entertained the belief that tats were a sign of immaturity, what he had observed of Dolgan's personality so far would have disabused him of that notion. The dwarf seemed controlled and thoughtful; perhaps even wise, good qualities in a captain… Alistair knew that he was the immature one in comparison.

"So," said Dolgan stretching and yawning, _Maker_, there even appeared to be an arrowhead tattooed on his tongue, "There's to be a proving in your honour this afternoon…"

"That's right," said Alistair quietly, "Not that I requested it…"

"Oh, Harrowmont's just being courteous, sucking up to you and such… Don't hold it against him; it's what dwarven nobles do…"

"I don't."

"Unlike me…" Said Dolgan quirking a very bristly eyebrow at him. "As a brand, I have no inclination to suck up to you whatsoever, young Surfacer…"

"Fair enough."

"So why do you want to crash my war party, again?"

"I…"

"Getting lonely, huh? Rattled by last night's dreams? Need some Grey Warden companionship, have an itch to cut a few Darkspawn heads off, do we?"

"Pretty much." Replied Alistair flexing his hands, Dolgan caught the gesture and smiled knowingly.

"Well the first thing's your own fault, isn't it? I mean you've restricted the Grey Warden presence in Ferelden since coming to the throne… Then I hear Neriya flounced off and left you, that's a reduction in numbers of what, one out of three? Your own fault…" He repeated. "Entirely."

Alistair stiffened, "I had my reasons… I'm sure Neriya had hers."

"Oh aye, I'm sure you both did… As to _that_ thing… You wouldn't be aware of it, course, but there are basically two schools of thought on it within the order…"

"Do illuminate me…"

"Now you're being downright cheeky… Anyway. There's those that give a fuck and those that don't. The second group, that includes me, vastly outnumber the first…"

"Huh."

"You do realise that as a 'blight queller' in the normal course of things I would be expected to defer to you?"

"I… No… Don't give a fuck? As far as I'm concerned you're in charge here…"

"Right. Good, we can agree on that at least."

"Well, that's why I'm asking you in the first place, isn't it? Do you want to see me beg?"

Dolgan grinned, "A pretty Surfacer like you, why not?"

Alistair sighed, clasped his hands in front of him and bowed his head. "I beg you, oh gracious Warden Dolgan, allow me to come along on your expedition and serve under your command…"

"Nice, very nicely done…" Dolgan clapped.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "One question…" Said Dolgan, "What would you do should I order you to do something that might well cost you your life?"

Alistair hesitated, "I would think about it, maybe argue, but I would probably obey… Probably…"

"Not a bad reply." Dolgan said gruffly, "I don't like heroes or blind obedience and I like even less those who claim it… Liars, most of them. You're fit, aren't you?" He said eyeing Alistair up and down.

"Yes. I've kept up, train almost everyday."

"Good, good because should I loose you, my rep will suffer. And it makes no difference to me if I'm dead, too, 'cause even if I started life as a brand, my name's been entered into the memories and I don't want it dirtied…" He paused, "So you'll be my deputy, then."

Alistair balked, "I didn't ask for that…"

"I know you didn't but, see here, you have to be… If you're just one of the men, the others will think I dislike you and I'm dissing you and that could lead to… Well, you know. If I make you my second, on the other hand, they'll see the respect and hopefully they'll think the better of me for showing it to you, and of you for not insisting on the leadership…"

"I'll try my best to be a good second…"

"Well you were for Neriya, hopefully that's not changed… What are you bringing along?"

"Full armour, sword, shield, crossbow, quarrels, few changes of clothes… poultices, wound kits and health potions that I'm more than willing to share."

"Yeah, we could do with those; we don't have a healer… Sort of going for it with it all hanging out, like. But the Legion needs us…" Dolgan waxed a bit serious for a while, looking down at the lava flow. Alistair did not think it appropriate to disturb his musing. Eventually rousing himself and squinting at Alistair he asked, "No crown?"

"You mock me… Never had one, musses the hair, even more so than a helmet… Could bring a few concubines, though…"

"Ah, now that would be welcome, good for both morale and fitness… Sure, we could get 'em to fit on the bronto…" and Dolgan clapped him on the back and started laughing. Alistair began to laugh with him.

* * *

That evening after the Proving Oswyn was _not_ laughing. "You're doing _what_? Where?" They were in Tapsters again; Alistair knew his news would not be well received by Oswyn so he had plied him early on with some of his favourite ales.

"Brief expedition with the other Grey Wardens help the Legion of the Dead retake a few crucial through fares…" He said quickly, as if saying it quickly would help.

"Alistair… You… You're a king, for the love of Andraste… and a father… You can't just run off…" Oswyn looked genuinely alarmed. Alistair thought he detected that Oswyn's panic was more for himself and the thought of being stranded in Orzammar alone.

"I was a Grey Warden before I became either of those things. Anyway, I'm not 'running off' it will only be for two weeks… I need this…"

"Don't be such an irritating child; you don't 'need' such a thing…"

"You're wrong, Oswyn. Being a Grey Warden is not something like an inconvenient thorn that I can just pull out of my flesh. It is in _me_, inside me, part of me."

Oswyn shook his head impatiently but Alistair persisted, "However, much I would wish it, I cannot undo what was done to me in the Joining, in the same way as you cannot undo what was done to you… In any event," He said conclusively, "I _am_ doing this… and, as I said to the arbiter, I shall try very hard not to get killed."

Oswyn sighed "Very well but, Anora will kill _me_…"

Alistair laughed, "Anora need never find out… Anyway, it will do you good; I'll be leaving you to your own devices. Remember, no more provings and I am counting on you to come up with a profitable way of disposing of that stuff. See, I told you I had the resources, now I have _you_ to work out how to handle them…"

"About that…" said Oswyn who suddenly had become all business, "What did you have in mind for the resulting funds…?"

"Projects…"

"Projects, but of what kind?" He asked sharply.

"The kind that will change Ferelden, education, reform, free the circle…" Alistair shrugged, "make suggestions if you wish…"

"And why did you choose to stow it here and not above ground?"

"Deniability I guess, if it's not in Ferelden I can say I know nothing of it, it's not an issue… Although that place where it is kept is leased to Crabbe and by extension to me. Ironically, as I said, it's part of Jarvia's original hideout. As with any dwarven _carta_ most of her income would come from lyrium smuggling, I imagine. Harrow wanted to gift it to me when I expressed an interest… I refused. Harrow has no idea what I'm keeping there… I don't think… Loosely doesn't know either, or Anora. We should keep it like that."

Oswyn sighed again.

"Poor you." Said Alistair, putting a hand on his arm, "Think how much more fun this is rather than staying at home at Dragons Peak or being the typical noble wallflower in Denerim… I believe I may have found you an assistant, anyhow, someone who knows their way around Orz, and there's Dean of course, he's pretty resourceful… Anyway, you have your orders, so to speak, so perk up…"

* * *

He could not sleep perhaps he was excited by what had happened today, perhaps worried about what would happen tomorrow, perhaps afraid of having another nightmare, although he knew that was unlikely so soon on the footsteps of the first.

Therefore, at some unholy hour of the night he decided to get up, get dressed, and venture out. Soon as he suspected would be the case, he found himself pacing the streets of the Diamond Quarter. Some guards stopped him momentarily and then shrugging allowed him to wander on. He stopped in front of what he seemed to recall was the Helmis' mansion and knocked. He was very surprised when the door was opened by a young chamberlain, who taking stock of him promptly ushered him inside.

"Milady may be asleep but I shall ask if she wishes to see you," He said escorting Alistair to an anteroom without Alistair so much as opening his mouth.

After some ten minutes the young dwarf returned, "She will see Your Majesty"

He was taken to a door and shown inside. It was obviously Lady Helmi's bedchamber.

"So you did not wish to assist me getting out of my armour?" She was barefoot; wearing a rather beautiful blue pale silk gown and her brown hair was loose and shiny and hung below her shoulders. She looked completely different as to how she had appeared at the proving, softer, gentler, all those feminine things... She was still wearing the emerald ring he had given her for winning. For a moment, he imagined her going to bed and looking at it with pride before she fell asleep and then clasping it close to her…

"Lady Helmi, I can barely get out of my own without assistance. Large clumsy fingers see…"

He held out his hands. A mistake. She approached him, caught them gently, and ran her own fingers over his palms. "I see what you mean, but they are good hands for a man… So big. Exciting really" and she took one and placed it on her cheek.

Alistair cleared his throat; the skin of her face was silky to the touch, "Lady Helmi… I… You do know I'm married, right?" He said removing his hand from her face.

Lady Helmi tut-tutted "Adal, call me Adal. You should know better that to try to use _that_ excuse in Orzammar. I too, am married… to a distant cousin… Please sit." She said gesturing towards something like a divan, "but he prefers to spend his time attempting to impregnate his favourite concubine who happens to be fertile, unlike myself…" Lady Helmi looked away, and then she asked, "Do you have children?"

Alistair sat down very gingerly, he was afraid the seat would give way under his weight but it was good dwarven craftsmanship after all and far more robust that it appeared at first sight. Lady Helmi sat next to him.

"I am sorry, that must be hard…" He hesitated, "The Grey Warden thing," he said, "doesn't precisely promote fertility…"

"My marriage was never a love match, at any rate… But what of Lady Neriya?"

"I was wanting to ask, why do so many here refer to her as _Lady_ Neriya?"

"Well, I think it was clear she was destined for great things, I think we all assume…"

"I see." He noted that the _dwarva_ seemed wholly unaware of the prejudice that elves had to suffer on the surface. He was not going to flag it up to them either, in case it gave them ideas…

"Anyway…"

"Orlais."

"But…"

"She did not wish to stay with me in Denerim…"

"Surfacers… There is no understanding them. So you would have preferred her to your wife in any event…"

"I can't really deny it."

"Do you miss her?"

He paused and lowered his eyes to his hands. "Very much."

"Alistair, can I call you that?"

He nodded.

"What are you doing here?"

"I…" He faltered, "Wanted to check that I had not offended you… Adal."

"Really? At this time of night?"

Now he thought about it, Alistair was not sure he even believed his own excuse. It was a disadvantage.

"You did not offend me," she said. "You are going with Dolgan and the other Grey Wardens tomorrow, are you not?" she smiled, and the dimples showed up in her cheeks.

"Yes… How—"

"Orzammar is a small place, news travels quickly… That's very brave of you… I have only been a few times down the Deep Roads myself… I find them… Disturbing. Aren't you afraid? I was so afraid before the tourney…" And as if remembering it, recreated it, he saw a shadow of apprehension flit over her features.

"Yes of course I am afraid; I would be a fool if I wasn't…" He muttered.

"And so you came here, Alistair. How can I help you, I wonder?" She said tilting her head to one side. He looked down at her beguiling, earnest, doll-like face and her dark lively eyes and something stirred.

"Adal, this was a mistake; I'd better go before things get complicated…" He said making to move.

"Complicated: My husband is with his concubine. Your wife is in Denerim. Neriya is in Orlais… You and I are here, in my bedchamber. That does not seem complicated to me, it seems… Opportune."

He opened his arms, "Well…"

"Are all Topsiders so charmingly indecisive?"

"I don't know precisely what I am doing here… I couldn't sleep. I am a pig and a hound, I thought about your proposition, you're quite attractive and… I have never… Not a dwarf and… Anyway, tomorrow…"

"A 'pig'" Repeated Lady Helmi, "I think we would say a nug here…" She said, fixing her gaze on him as she lowered the gown so he could see the top of her firm, pale breasts "and nugs are very tasty…" she put out an arm and wrenched his face towards them.

There was no helping it, he growled…

* * *

When he woke up his whole body ached, in the nicest possible way, of course especially his stones, as Lady Helmi had called them. He realised he really quite liked the heat of Orzammar the way you did not have to wear many clothes if you wanted to feel comfortable.

He looked over and saw that Lady Helmi, or Adal, _still couldn't quite get used to that name, somehow,_ was curled up in a little ball. Her face wrinkled in sleep, almost resting on her pretty breasts, her hands wrapped over it, the chunky ring still on her left, the only thing she was wearing, legs drawn up to her tummy and between them_… Better not go there… _As he watched she sighed and yawned without waking and bundled herself up even tighter. _Aggh… Cute, very cute_.

It had been playful and, then, surprisingly, a bit rough… When towards the beginning he'd said something about that, Adal had replied, "but I like this… We're both fighters, aren't we?", and had continued to tug at his clothing and at him, he had never been with a fighter, somebody he could mock wrestle and who would not necessarily loose, somebody with a really fit body and…

He loved Neriya and she had spirit and willpower, but he saw her as physically so fragile, he put a lot of effort in trying to avoid hurting her, not that he necessarily would but… And it had been a strain, sometimes, holding back. It seemed Adal had used the encounter to let out a lot of tension, as had he…

Come to think of it, his neck was a bit sore… He touched it briefly. Oh dear, a bite mark…

* * *

Adal had grinned when she saw the mark and had gently wrapped a scarf round his neck before he left. Conveniently, of course, the Grey Warden HQ was just a short walk around the corner. Alistair was surprised and then amused to find that he was not the only one who had spent all night out. In fact, Dolgan, blissfully stretched out over his cot was the only one who had spent the night _in_.

The others, including the only other human, a rogue named Marcus, all returned in dribs and drabs looking the worse for wear and exchanging knowing grins. Well, at least he had got some good quality sleep in the end, if not for very long.

Then it was the usual male barracks confusion of cleaning, shaving, packing, dressing, arming up. He had missed it, he realised, and it had been almost five years… Moreover, he'd never felt so at ease in that environment before. He was ribbed for the bite mark, of course, but gave as good as he got, doing down the others because they _didn't have_ bite marks. He was shown a few interesting blemishes along the way, but generally remained unconvinced.

_The third best suit of armour, the dark one, dragonbone, the lucky one._

_Orzammar, Ferelden, wherever. It would be the same. If you were going to battle and not in a hurry, you tried to look your best. _Therefore, although they were a very motley mismatched band of two humans and three dwarves, but all Grey Wardens, they did put on a bit of a show.

_And Lady Hel… Adal was there, which was nice, _standing right next to Oswyn who was frowning with his arms crossed over his chest_. Oh, Oswyn, you'll soon understand… _Even Dean, who rushed forward and embraced him_…, Hell, that was nice too…_


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

Dragon 9:34

Umbralis/Firstfall-Cassus/Haring Orzammar [Present]

Alistair was pleased with his farewell, it was touching when people expressed their feelings for you be it as friends or lovers, or a bit of both, and it was something, truth be told, he did not think he would ever get enough of, however long he lived: Affection. He bent down smiling to allow Adal to adjust the scarf round his neck, embraced Oswyn and told him he would be fine and pried off Dean with an friendly clap on the back when he threw himself at him, wondering briefly how many friends Dean must have lost in his years as a Templar, because judging by his emotionality it could be a few.

The dwarves were also dismissed with fondness, Dolgan's niece casting a meaningful look in Alistair's direction as she embraced him, which he pretended not to notice.

The only one who seemed to have no-one was Marcus who stood very straight and somewhat apart from the rest of them, fussily inspecting his bow and his arrows and his leather armour, although Alistair knew for sure that it had all already been checked because he had made a point of ensuring everyone had buddied up to do just that.

So they set through the archway down the steps through the gallery that opened up into the Deep Roads. They deviated slightly so Khegst could pick up his bronto. A beautifully ugly hulk of an animal called Mabya who lowed gently when she saw Khegst and started to nuzzle the redheaded, miner caste dwarf in search of lichen while he clapped her cheerfully on the back asking her how she had been.

Although he had been charged several times by enraged brontos in his previous foray into the Deep Roads, not an experience he particularly wanted to repeat, Alistair had never had time to study a bronto from close up. She looked as though she had been born with her own armour, her very tough hide actually seemed to lay at certain points like plates over her bulk, her horn at its root was as thick as a tree trunk, her top lip appeared to be split and she had deep dark brown eyes.

"She's harmless" Khegst who was beardless assured him finally feeding her some green stuff that he extracted from a pocket, "she's actually a lovely gentle beast… Aren't we Mabya, baby?" He exclaimed stroking her ungainly horned nose as she made satisfied chomping noises.

Alistair put his hand out to her palm upwards, and to his surprise Mabya opened her big mouth revealing a long black pointed tongue and licked it. Her tongue was very rough but fortunately for his skin, also very wet. Khegst who was putting a complicated leather harness on Mabya laughed at Alistair's appalled and surprised expression and then pretended not to watch as Alistair attempted to dry his hand on the cavern wall.

"She does seem charming…"

"She definitely likes you Topsider, what can I say? You must smell good to her or something… She's making all sorts of noises…"

"Really?" Said Alistair, "I can't hear any noises…"

"Yes…" Replied Khegst looking up at him puzzled from where he was kneeling to adjust the harness over Mabya's immense stomach, "She's making these sort of huffing noises…"

"I don't…"

"Lay your hand against her throat, Topsider."

Alistair did and sure enough he could feel some deep rolling vibrations from the creature's gullet but he still could not hear anything… "How strange…"

"Tell you what, Topsider, this is really interesting, bring the other one, Marcus, here and one of my brothers… Let's see what they have to say…"

Therefore, Alistair persuaded Volkur and Marcus to have a closer look at Mabya. Marcus looked at her somewhat timorously and kept his distance, whereas Volkur simply went up to her and thumped her on the side.

"For luck," he explained. Mabya lifted her head and bellowed approvingly at him.

"Well I heard that…" Said Alistair.

"But you don't hear anything now…" Said Khegst, standing having secured the harness.

"No… Do you hear anything Marcus?"

"Not after that bellow, no…" Said Marcus, his forehead wrinkling…

"Volkur?" asked Khegst.

"Definitely," Replied the other dwarf, "It is a typical 'bronto's song', a sort of deep rumbling within the rock…"

"But neither of the Topsiders can hear it…" said Khegst "By the stone! That is…" He appeared to be lost for words.

"No wonder the brontos that attacked us last time seemed to me to come out of nowhere, but Oghren was never caught unawares… It just never struck either of us that he was hearing something I couldn't…"

"Intriguing." Finished Khegst.

"There seems to be a real stone sense, after all," Alistair nodded in agreement.

In any event, since Mabya had now been harnessed they began to load her up with such things as potions spare weapons and armour and food supplies.

"She can easily carry far more than your average ox…" Boasted Khegst, "This is as nothing to her… We used to use her for bearing boulders, gems and ore…" and he patted the beast's vast side.

Mabya was many things but she was not fast so the party found itself adapting to her steady swaying gait as she and Khegst brought up the rear.

"They are very valuable, worth the yearly income of many families, and rare now, unfortunately," Dolgan murmured to Alistair.

Since Alistair had gotten to know somewhat about Dolgan and Khegst he thought now perhaps, it was Marcus' turn, so he matched his steps to those of the rogue. "No-one back there to say goodbye to you…" he commented, perhaps he noted as the words left his mouth, a little insensitively.

Marcus did not seem to mind, "Oh," He replied, "I have folks and no doubt I'll be seeing them soon," he looked tired and drawn and had a slight Orlesian accent.

"Good to know."

"Surprised to meet _you_ here, though…" added Marcus, I would have loved to assist with the Blight but the call never came…"

"So you were one of the Wardens poised to…"

"Indeed I was."

"I see."

"You are not as I imagined you would be…," remarked Marcus.

"And how did you imagine me?"

"Older, more serious, less quirky… More… Tormented. Please don't take offence."

"None taken. I am as I am… and I do have my dark days," Said Alistair smiling.

"Don't we all," murmured Marcus, "don't we all…?"

* * *

After saying goodbye to Alistair Oswyn was tempted to go back to the Shaperate but somehow he felt that would be running away from what he had been commissioned to do so instead he turned to Dean and said, "Let's go back to that hiding place of ours and talk, shall we?"

They sat facing each other across the table, Oswyn had got himself some water, "Alistair was plying me yesterday." He explained, while Dean helped himself from the cask.

"I need to get a new one soon," He said.

"So you were hooked on the stuff?" He asked Dean, "What's that like?"

"Miserable." Said Dean, "Not at first of course, at first it feels as if your feet have wings and you are the strongest most powerful most intelligent man in Thedas… Mages are nothing to you. Suddenly all those hours of meditation that it takes to master some of the Templar skills seem unnecessary, because on the blue-eyed beauty, it takes you barely a minute. You can almost do a cleanse area, an incredibly powerful spell, at whim. Then the next day you wake up… And you're just you again, and being just you is suddenly hard work, harder than before… So then you begin looking forward to the time you can take the stuff again and feel all those positive things and powers flowing through you…"

As he said this Oswyn observed that Dean embraced himself, "Yes," said Dean noticing he had noticed, "It makes you feel _that_ good. And you really begin to dread coming down and loosing it all, then you actually start hating _you_, hating yourself as you are, without the beauty. That's when you are really getting hooked…"

"What does lyrium taste like?"

"Sweet, sickly sweet, sweeter than anything in creation has a right to be…"

"Bring me one of the bottles that you are certain is lyrium…"

"Alright."

Dean was gone a few moments, then came back, and put a flask containing a bright crystalline blue liquid on the table between them.

"So how do you know this is lyrium?" Asked Oswyn.

Dean picked up so the light from the sconce fell directly on it and shook it gently, "It shines, see? Great colour, sparkling blue but not too deep, too deep and it's either not lyrium or it's turning… No sparkle, it's not lyrium."

"How long does lyrium keep?"

"If the bottle is well sealed and properly stored, for about five years"

"And it changes colour when it starts to loose its power, you say?"

"That's right," Replied Dean, "It starts going turbid and dull, gets darker…"

"Can it be dangerous like that?"

"It can but it becomes virtually undrinkable, so…"

"Right. Do any of the bottles we have have dates on them?"

"If they do, I've never noticed…"

"Okay, so we will just have to judge by the colour…"

"Correct."

"Tell me about strength…"

"What do you mean?"

"I think I mean the amount of lyrium to water."

"Well, anything less than a tenth is useless. To me anyway, some say they're hypersensitive… I really dunno." Dean shrugged.

"Can it be too strong?"

"Yes, for non-mages anything over half could be risky. It just takes so long to wear off, you become confused rather than in control… You could stay like that. Permanently."

"And for mages?"

"My understanding is that most of them can tolerate about up to two thirds… It does vary from person to person…"

"And how can you tell the strength?"

"Apart from opening it and trying it? Colour. Not very accurate but it's all we have to go on. Never buy 'lyrium' in anything but a clear flask… It's not gonna be lyrium… I only bothered to store clear flasks here, the rest I just left…"

"Did you make any record of when and where the lyrium was confiscated?"

Dean shook his head, clearly uncomfortable, "I can read and write, just about, but I'm not a literate man, really, it didn't occur to me… The flasks are more of less in order of when I and the guards confiscated them, so the oldest, according to that date are in room one."

Oswyn laced his hands together and stretched them palm outwards, "No problem, Dean, no-one is perfect but it means we've got a lot of work in front of us. I suggest we use some flasks against a pale background as a gauge for purity. Therefore, we set them out in a row and can use them as a reference to classify the others. Is it possible for you to…? Ah, we could use a sheet over that old shop counter… So this bottle you brought me here, from its appearance how strong would you say it was?"

* * *

For what remained of the first day, they had kept to the main thoroughfare of the Deep Roads and had no real encounters of any significance save for a small group of spiders that they swiftly dispatched and from which they salvaged some venom for possible later use.

After walking for some six hours Dolgan determined that, it was time to set camp and they lit a small fire and prepared to settle down for the night and consume the freshest rations leaving the more austere salted nug meat, fish, and dried fruits for the latter parts of their journey. Not to forget the cheese wheel, though, he was quite looking forward to starting that. Alistair had some bread with a lick of butter, a boiled egg and a few apples he had sent the soldiers to the surface market to buy for him.

He offered one of the apples to Marcus who, distractedly, said "_Merci_", and who when Alistair replied, "_Pas du tout…_" suddenly smiled and then looked away.

After their improvised meal, Dolgan summoned Alistair and spread out a parchment map on the dry ground before the fire. Alistair was impressed but Dolgan just grunted and said that Volkur's Shaperate training had been put to good use. Sitting back on his knees, Volkur smiled happily.

Raising his eyes to him from where he was squatting, Alistair noticed for the first time that neither he nor Khegst were so-called dusters but they both seemed to interact quite amicably with Dolgan who was, and had no problem accepting his authority. Alistair felt that this was a definite plus for the Wardens, that they could bring people together like this. Unexpectedly, he felt a little of the pride he used to have in belonging to the order returning.

"Now, young Surfacer, since you're somewhat of a late joiner to the team I'll go over our plans with you. The rest of you might just want to listen in to refresh your knowledge. Anyway, here's where we are, and here's where we're hoping to join up with the legion. That should be no later than around this time the day after tomorrow." Dolgan pointed at the two locations on the map. Alistair nodded.

"Once we get there our mission's to assist the Legion in retaking Glogar's Passage which leads off from Ortan Thaig to the north east. There's not enough detail on Volkur's map here, not his fault no-one has taken care to survey it, as far as we know, but, my contact in the Legion informs me that there are three main cavern system branching off from the Passage, two to the left and one to the right as you exit from the Thaig.

The idea's that once we join with the Legion they'll split off into four groups, one to guard the entrance to the Passage from the Thaig, the other three to take each of the three branches. We in turn'll split up into three groups, two of two and one alone, each group of two wardens'll go with one of two Legion parties, the solitary will be the only Warden in the third party… We're to act as glorified scouts to alert them of Darkspawn presence and help them flush every last of one of those nug humping sons of a plague-ridden brood mother out…" he growled, "I guess we'll have further details once we meet up with the Legion. Any questions so far?"

Khegst asked whether Dolgan had determined the pairs yet, Dolgan shook his head. "I haven't come to any final decisions thus far… I won't be putting the Surfacers together, I probably won't pair you with Volkur, and I won't be in the same group as Alistair, for obvious reasons, but that's it… I'm open to suggestions."

Khegst opened his mouth but Dolgan interjected, "As far as Mabya's concerned we'll be leaving her with the fourth Legion group where she should be safe." Khegst nodded satisfied.

Alistair had been allocated the fourth watch so he bundled up his cape to act as a pillow on a dry bit of surface took off his gauntlets, sabatons, and most of his leg and arm armour and tried to settle down for what he had of the night on the hard ground.

* * *

Oswyn and Dean spent most of the remainder of the day carting lyrium flasks back and forth. After a good few hours effort they had discarded about two dozen bottles and had established on the sheet a purity reference scale composed five bottles of different lyrium concentrations that they used to classify the flasks they retained into five rough groups.

Oswyn was quite happy with what they had achieved that day because he was sure they had made a solid start even if limping from room to room carrying flasks was very tiring for him and becoming painful. He was also grateful for Dean's continued good humour and his banter, unsurprisingly, he had a lot of Templar and low life yarns to spin some of them pretty bawdy. Therefore, when evening came he took him to the place where he had previously dined with Alistair and they shared an excellent tasting stuffed nug, garnished with some really savoury mushrooms.

"Ya know," said Dean between licking his fingers, "You should get a stick. To help you along I mean, help your balance…"

Oswyn looked over at him, "I've really been trying to avoid that…," he said somewhat frigidly.

"Yes, I get what you say but there is no advantage in hobbling, you just get tired more quickly and your overall posture is affected and not in a good way."

Oswyn thought this over, it made some sense.

"Plus," added the Templar, "a good stick is not just a stick, it's a staff, which wielded properly can be a formidable weapon…"

"That's…"

"Never done any stave fighting? With your upper body strength that could be a winner." Said Dean looking up at him from his meal, "I could give you the basics and when you get back to Denerim, you could find someone that would help you develop further… I used to know a few names. Chantry types mostly, brothers and sisters… Pretty nifty with a stick some of those."

"Sounds… Interesting…"

"Oh, I can see you like a challenge, Oswyn, and that's why he chose you… Me, I'm good at what I do and that's why he's using me. Quite a good judge of character, our prince."

Oswyn was in fact in such a good mood that he later took Dean to Tapsters and drank too much. Although he had been in Orzammar for far longer than Oswyn Dean had never previously ventured into Tapsters, _"Too dwarven, know what I mean?"_ but he found that drinking created a universal sense of brotherhood and took to the overall atmosphere like a fish to a pond… A pond full of alcohol. Moreover, once he had discovered that they stocked some Surfacer brews, there was no turning back.

And so it was that when someone knocked on the door of their little den the next morning and Oswyn stumbled/limped to open it, almost tripping over the sheet as he went and clutching the flasks so they didn't break, mumbling rather incoherently "I'm coming, coming…" because Dean was way too far gone in a stupor, it was with much less than his usual clear head.

He was surprised therefore; when he got to the door and finally unlatched it, that nobody appeared to be there. "What the…"

It was then that he felt a tug on his surcoat and thought to look down. Only to see a pretty round face with rosy cheeks and deep blue eyes gazing straight at him from just over waist-height. "Good morning," said a very wide mouth in the round face, "You must be Oswyn, I'm Zinthal Harrak, Alistair sent me to help you… Pleased to meet you." And she thrust a little hand up towards him.

* * *

The next day they encountered some Darkspawn, who must have thought they were safe wandering along the ancient dwarven thorough fare. Surprisingly the first one to detect them was Mabya who started whinnying and tugging at Khegst in alarm but soon the group of Wardens were flooded with the stifling sensations of Darkspawn proximity and something Alistair seemed not to have felt in a long, long time, righteous rage. It was exhilarating and refreshing, flooding all his senses with scarlet… Suddenly, the small party became a blur of activity.

Marcus started firing his bow to deadly effect. Dolgan gestured to the rest of them, when Alistair approached him he barked, "the emissary, Surfacer, get him…" and Alistair then saw nothing but the rather small genlock with a weird hat standing in a pool of green iridescence. Something in his head clicked smartly into place, and with a deep yell, he made for the creature, blind to anything else.

Most of the Darkspawn party were genlocks, and he found it relatively easy to run them down, knock them out of the way or leap over them if necessary, two however were hurlocks and one seemed to be protecting the emissary. Alistair managed to side step him by seeming heading in one direction and then switching in a matter of seconds to another, just as he had thought he had gained on the emissary however, it let out an agonised howl and an arrow seemed to sprout from its left eye socket, what the fuck…

But the creature wasn't dead yet was it? Therefore, he swung Starfang in a wild arc and dealt it a fatal blow to the side of the neck, feeling a satisfying thud as the blade bit into its flesh and its blood sprayed over him in a warm shower. The hurlock he had dodged was almost on top of him but he hit out blindly at it with his shield turning quickly and side swiped it so it staggered back. Then he went for it with all the savagery he had been saving for the emissary…


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

Dragon 9:34

Cassus/Haring Orzammar [Present]

Oswyn did not know what to do with the proffered hand but since its owner was female, appeared to be wearing lots of jewellery and claimed to have been sent by Alistair, he decided to kiss it.

The hand's owner giggled and then asked, "Do all Topsiders have such exquisite manners?"

Oswyn guessed then that he had been expected to shake rather than kiss but there was no reason why he should not come over as very smooth so he bowed slightly which made her giggle again and said. "Only the best of us…"

"Oh," she said and she actually seemed to squee, "You are so like Alistair, KING Alistair, I mean…"

"I think you better come in, milady, so we can talk…" Even through the fog of his hangover, he had realised that it was not the most discreet thing in Orzammar to be nattering with a very excitable lady dwarf right on the doorstep of your 'secret' hideout.

She entered fearlessly. "Ah" she said turning about in the passageway, her blue eyes darting everywhere, "I remember this place…"

"You do?" Oswyn asked somewhat surprised.

"Jarvia's old hideout… You do know I'm a brand, right?" Moreover, she pointed to the scar on her left cheek just below the eye. "Quite a few of my family members had ties to her _carta_… When you are a duster sometimes your only choice is between collaborating with crime lords or dying slowly of starvation…"

"I've seen dust town… That must be a horrible situation to be in.," said Oswyn and he meant it, yes, _people were poor in Ferelden and many lived hard lives but there were none beyond the ken… Why even a bastard could become a king. Ah! He was forgetting the elves…_

He took her into the makeshift kitchen and offered her a human sized chair she did her best to clamber on to it. He noticed that she did not remark on or even seem to notice his limp. _Briefed,_ he thought.

"Sorry," He said, "Can I get you some water, or would you want a beer?"

"Oh Oswyn, it is even too early for a dwarf to start drinking…" She said clasping her hands on the table in front of her, she wore several gold bangles and they clanged pleasingly.

"Water then?"

"No need." She shrugged. "Now how can Zinthal assist you?" Se said looking directly at him.

* * *

After the fight, Alistair had volunteered to go and look for Mabya. Apparently, the strategy regarding the bronto was that as soon as they were attacked she would be let loose and allowed to follow her natural instincts and hide. She would then have to be fetched back.

"Legend has it, Surfacer," Khegst had told him, "that they can become invisible when evading foes…" Well, that might be stretching his credibility a bit far but after their observations on her lowing, he could not write anything off, he guessed.

He had volunteered because, although he was tired after the fight, he was also feeling a little shaky and jumpy. This was quite normal for him, and in the circumstances, he did not usually make very good company. He thought a walk alone would allow him to calm down and gather his wits as well as get away from the others for a bit; he always felt crowded after a battle and needed space.

The fight had also brought back all sorts of memories of when he was down here before with Neriya and in particular how she used to help him relax after this kind of encounter. They were all fairly creeped out then, except for Oghren who was too drunk, usually, to be creeped, but who provided some very welcome comic relief.

Of course they didn't have the intimacy of a tent while in the Deep Roads but when they found what they thought was a safe area, Neriya and he would sit apart from the others for a time and he used to put his head in her lap while she stroked his hair, sometimes they would talk, sometimes there wasn't much to say… Often he would fall asleep. He really missed that so much. Being with someone whom he knew and trusted every day… Women like Adal and Isabela were fine and he enjoyed their company as well as the rest of it, but he suspected he was a bit of a trophy for them, what would happen, as he got older and less desirable?

There did not appear to be any sign of Mabya at the moment, he decided to whistle quietly. After a few minutes and a few more steps, he thought he saw a shape detach itself from one of the shady cavern walls. Sure enough as he drew nearer it was her, he held out some of the moss he had gathered from the rock walls as he went, Khegst had shown him which type she preferred.

Mabya's strange top lip split, her black tongue came out and she licked the moss from his hand and then nuzzled his shoulder, whinnying gently. She could make all sorts of different sounds, he had noticed. He ran his hand over her nose, noting even there how rough her hide was while she chomped and told her she was the prettiest bronto he had ever seen, which was, of course, very true.

Her packs seemed intact but he checked anyway, just in case. He picked up her leash and she seemed happy to follow him so they made their way slowly back.

"Well," said Oswyn, "One of the things Alistair asked me to do was to ensure that when he returns to Orzammar in future his visits are treated discreetly… He enjoyed that proving the day before yesterday very much, but, essentially, he is a simple man and he would like to come and go without too much fuss and no more provings… I don't know whether you could assist me with that? He will always be happy to meet with Harrowmont but would prefer such meetings to take place in private… Alistair, of course, would like this to be arranged without giving offence to anyone. I think this could benefit Orzammar, too, discretion is always helpful in relations between states and sovereigns..."

Zinthal's little fingers played on the wood of the table. "Seems simple enough, Oswyn. You know councillor Dulin, Dulin Forender?"

"Yes we were introduced the other day…"

"He's your man. Harrowmont likes to make much of your King's visits because it makes _him_ look more powerful and influential, but I think there could be a compromise here… I mean Dulin might suggest some discretion in exchange for the occasional 'official' visit but I can't see that they would be opposed to this… They'll probably just want something back. It would just be a question of making an agreement that makes both sides happy…"

Oswyn nodded. He could have reached this conclusion himself, of course, so he wondered what use Zinthal was going to really be. Then she said.

"Oswyn, one of Dulin's favourite mistresses loves furs… She occasionally walks around in a fur coat, and rumour has it that's all she's wearing, that's unnecessary of course really, but it does attract attention. The kind she wants. They say her bed is covered in furs, and she likes to entertain on them… "

"What kind of furs?"

"The type you can't get down here… Almost anything, fox, bear, ermine… Are there ermines in Ferelden? Ermine usually comes from Orlais, they say…"

"Oh, there are ermines in Ferelden for sure…" Sometimes being a country boy came in handy; there were quite a few stoats or ermines (stoats in their winter coat) around Dragons Peak. Oswyn had been unaware before now that fur was a commodity in Orzammar, it certainly wasn't in Ferelden, and stoats were practically considered vermin there.

"So" said Zinthal, "If you give him some furs you might get a better deal from him than you otherwise would. I would suggest you invite him to a friendly supper one evening, indulge in some banter, he really is a nice enough guy, give him a pressie and then press your case. And don't drink too much, Oswyn…" She said eyeing him, "It is obviously not for you…"

Oswyn nodded, he had changed his opinion about Zinthal.

Zinthal cleared her throat, "You can take me along, if you wish…""I could smooth things over, a little," she said.

"But how could I justify taking you to such a meeting…"

"There is only one way a man can justify taking a woman like me anywhere, Oswyn"

He thought he might have detected a touch of sadness in her voice."Can I think about it?" he asked.

"Of course you can, I would suggest you arrange the meeting for a few days' time…"

* * *

"_Comment avez-vous apprendre l'Orlais?"_ Asked Marcus.

"_Grâce à ma chérie belle-mère…"_

"_Ah oui?"_ Asked Marcus.

"Wonderful woman, Isolde, gave me a perfect appreciation of the language, especially terms like _'le petit bâtard'_ or _'le fils de putain'_… and _I_ had to call her _belle-mère. _My stay in the Chantry helped improve on it, if not on the irony_._"

"Surfacers…" Snarled Dolgan from behind them, "Stop twittering in that unholy language…"

Alistair laughed and Marcus grunted.

"Oh well, so much for further practice…" Alistair turned round briefly and mock saluted Dolgan who growled at him again.

"Don't try my patience Surfacer…"

"And that mark on your neck?" Marcus seemed to be very much in a questioning mood today, thought Alistair.

His scarf had obviously slipped a little, "Battle injury. Got in a fight with a lady, on a mattress… She started it…"

Marcus grinned. "I trust the lady was all right…"

"She is perfect, in all possible meanings of that term, if a little tiring."

"Those are the best ones," Said Marcus, "The ones that tire you out… So you don't have to think…" His eyes glazed over for a moment, then he added quietly, "The taint makes whores of us all…"

"What did you say?"

"That the taint…" Marcus cleared his throat, "makes whores of all of us…"

"Meaning?"

"It increases all our appetites…"

"But surely we should be able to resist…"

"Like yourself, you mean?"

"I am a bad example, I am a very weak man, I have never pretended to be anything else, but…"

"I think it's fairly certain that we all feel the compulsion."

"But compulsion is one thing… Surrendering to it, quite another."

"You were with Neriya were you not?"

"I was, yes."

"You were… Together."

"Yes."

"Would you take my word for it that the strength of attraction between wardens of different genders is virtually irresistible? I obviously mean where their sexual preferences are compatible."

"No. I wouldn't."

"But you don't know…"

"Well, I've only ever met two female wardens and I wasn't in any position to widen my acquaintance with the second one… Marcus, why are you asking this?"

"I…" Marcus suddenly looked incredibly sad.

"Do you feel guilty about something? I don't know you very well but you seem a good man to me."

"It is nothing." Said Marcus sighing.

As he settled down to sleep that night, Alistair ran through their conversation again. Marcus seemed very down, very melancholy as if he, like Alistair were visiting places in the past to which he could never return. The Deep Roads themselves were depressing, of course, Alistair thought back to what Lady Hel… Adal had said about finding them disturbing, she had the right of it, he guessed. There was too much past here and not enough future, not a human or a dwarven future, it seemed anyway.

Also he was beginning to feel dirty, after a few years of being able to wash and shave and wear clean clothes every day, he realised he had grown used to it. Now, he was acutely aware that every minute he spent down here he was being covered by more grime and filth: it was incrusted under his nails and in his hair, in his ears, even the corners of his eyes felt gritty. They had barely enough water for him to wipe off the gore after the battle, it was needed for drinking. Yes, there were water sources particularly around most of the Thaigs but not really, on the roads themselves and they needed to make haste, not stop off to clean up. His face was covered with stubble. He knew he smelt, they all did…

Mabya did not seem to mind, though, shortly after he laid down and when he still in the tossing and turning stage she plonked, there was no better word for it, herself down right behind him with a huff, and soon she bowed her head and closed her eyes this time he could hear the occasional rumble from her throat as well as bronto snores. It helped him sleep sooner.

* * *

The next day Dolgan called him aside, "Alistair," he said, then he paused for a while all hunched over, his mouth moving, then he looked up at him, "You're going to go with Stone Orchid and her squad."

"Stone—"

"The name's a nick, only female squad commander in the Legion, she's a cruel bitch, even by the standards of the legion, but incredibly effective… And before you ask why you… I can't do that to Marcus, he's at a delicate stage, Khegst and Volkur are too young she'd pull'em to pieces and then piss on 'em. I'd do it I really would but, I… I have a relative in the Legion and she already hates his guts and he has to fight with her…"

"And why do you think I could cope with her…"

"Apart from the fact you're the only one left? You've been through a lot, a hell of a lot, which must mean that somewhere you're tough, as well as pretty. You fought well yesterday, by the way, but you already know that, don't you? You're sarky, probably drive her to nug pegging, catch her off guard… Most of the others are just too afraid of her, insofar as I can make out. AND you volunteered for this, never forget that, Surfacer. Finally, she's a woman, Alistair, and even our damn bronto likes you… So what do you say?"

"Oh, now I get a choice, Dolgan?"

"Not as such: You say, 'Yes, Dolgan,' Alistair… Thank you so very much for introducing new and interesting experiences into my life, Dolgan. I am now overjoyed at having volunteered to go with you, Dolgan…"

Alistair sighed, "Any advice?"

"It's difficult, but look after yourself, don't let her put you down, no stupid stuff… don't forget, you're probably better than she is in many ways and definitely more tricky to replace. By the way, the Legion have no interest in surface politics so though some of them may know you, they'll have no idea of your status. Probably better to keep it like that."

Alistair nodded.

"…and thank me…"

"Why?"

"I just praised you…"

* * *

They arrived later that day at the rendezvous point without further incident. It immediately became clear who Dolgan's contact was, as soon as they entered the enormous cavern where they were due to meet up with the Legion there was a loud roar and a figure detached itself from the serried ranks and ran towards them. Alistair almost drew but Dolgan who was standing next to him, grinning widely, stayed him by putting his hand on this arm. Only Volkur seemed entirely relaxed, smiling knowingly.

When the figure reached halfway across a bridge that spanned the chasm in the centre of the cavern, Dolgan gave a matching roar, which sounded almost identical to the first one and in turn, broke into a run. The two figures met half way across the bridge and there was much enthusiastic thumping, fist bumping and growling when they did so.

As Alistair and the rest of the group drew near, he suddenly had the sensation of seeing double, although both dwarves looked exactly the same, their tattoos, weapons and armours were quite distinct and Dolgan, of course, was wearing his Grey Warden pendent. Alistair's confusion was such that he turned towards Marcus who was also looking stunned.

The one that was Dolgan clapped the other on the back once again and shouted in their direction, "Meet Durgan, my little brother…"

"Twins…" Alistair had only seen a few in his lifetime.

"Yes." Said Volkur, "and identical, extremely rare among us _dwarva_… For that, alone their names were entered into the Memories upon their birth even though they were born dusters… Of course, now further achievements have been entered for both of them. And Dolgan elected to become a warden when Durgan was drafted into the Legion, he wanted to follow him but Durgan suggested there was another way he could help the fight against the Darkspawn…"

The wardens were greeted heartily by the legionnaires, but Alistair could not help but notice that there was one group that stood warily apart. He thought it would be better to get it over with sooner rather than later, so he waded through the throng of enthused dwarvenhood and patted Dolgan on the shoulder. Dolgan looked up at him, without saying anything, Alistair tilted his head in the direction of the isolated group…

"Yeah," said Dolgan, "That's her… and her squad… The bitch."

"Might as well get this over with…" Replied Alistair.

"As you wish, Surfacer, luck…"

Putting on his most easygoing smile and adopting the least threatening demeanour he could, Alistair loped towards the small gathering.

She was lolling in front of it, leaning on a large fearsome looking blade.

"Greetings," said Alistair, in the politest tone he could muster, "I believe I have been assigned to work with you…"

She swivelled her one remaining eye up at him, then cleared her throat noisily and spat, narrowly missing him. Her voice was like rough gravel.

"Surfacer… If you all look alike, which you do…" she said, "Why do _you_ look familiar?"

Alistair studied her carefully for a few quiet moments, for the second time in the last few hours not quiet believing what he was seeing. He thought it appropriate to retain an air of calm detachment.

"Good evening, Jarvia." He replied.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

Dragon 9:34

Cassus/Haring Orzammar [Present]

Following Zinthal's departure Oswyn tidied himself up, dressed properly and, after breakfast, and consulting a somewhat dozy Dean went along to the Diamond Quarter to commandeer the two guards they had brought with them to Orz to assist in the sorting of the lyrium.

Then for the first time in a week the went out to the surface, this was just basic recognisance really, sizing up the merchants and traders and seeing if any of them could procure him some decent furs in the next few days. Alistair had given him 150 sovereigns and he hoped to spend them well.

He was pleased to discover it was a sunny day if very cold. The ground was covered in frost, which the watery sunlight did not melt for the few hours he was outside. It was a relief to be able to take a lungful of air and find it fresh and unsullied.

He bought some cooked beef which he quickly devoured, there was nothing wrong with nug but it got tedious eating the same meat all the time no matter how diversely prepared, a loaf of wheaten bread and a small keg of ale to replace Dean's which was running low.

One of the traders seemed game to provide a selection of furs the next day in exchange for an advance of 25 gold, that seemed a bit hefty but he was determined to succeed so he decided to commit himself and arrange for the meeting with Dulin in two days' time.

* * *

"Nice sword," said Alistair, its appearance against his neck while he was sitting in the water pool was not wholly unexpected. If there was one thing, he recollected about Jarvia it was her extremely highly developed stealth abilities.

He had had an appalling night's sleep mainly because Jarvia had been very active with one of the members of her squad. He had really missed Mabya's relatively quiet comforting presence. Tonight he, told himself, should try to sleep as far away as possibly from Jarvia because, frankly, it was disturbing.

In the morning, he had noticed one of the squad bringing up some fresh water to prepare breakfast, when he asked him for the water source he had been directed to a grotto that was quite nearby. He had decided to forsake breakfast for cleanliness and so had been sitting despondently in the coldish pool for about ten minutes after scrubbing himself down.

"Surfacer—"

_What was it with some women him and bloody swords?_ "Actually I prefer Alistair…"

"I could cut your neck…"

"Well you _could_… Still a nice sword though, Jarvia…" He said looking down over it at her squat nose and scarred face and scalp. Burns, he guessed, mostly, he recalled that at the end of the fight some three years ago they had driven her towards her own explosive booby traps.

"Or something else…" the sword wavered suggestively.

"Now, that's just vicious…" He hoped he sounded calmer than he felt.

"Jarvia is dead…" She added.

"Sorry about that. But it really wasn't personal…" He was beginning to feel uncomfortable just sitting there in the water on a rocky ledge, "Look, do you mind, it's getting cold in here…" He stood up and started wading out of the greyish water.

"There wouldn't be much to miss…" She added.

"As I said, the water was cold…" Attempting to recover a little dignity, he picked up the blanket he had decided to use as a towel earlier and started rubbing himself dry. "What do you want?"

"What are you doing in the Deep Roads?"

As he stepped into his smallclothes, he gestured towards the pendent, the only thing he was wearing, "Same as last time. See this? Grey Warden here. It's what we do… I didn't even choose your squad, just following orders."

"Dolgan?"

"Dolgan."

"Nug plugger's idea of a joke…" She said bitterly.

"In all fairness, he didn't know that you and I had met previously… Can I have a look at that sword?"

"Why so obsessed with swords, Surfacer?" she said scornfully but to his astonishment, she actually handed it to him.

"You may have noticed I'm a boy…" He reached out for it, as soon as he touched it the blade glinted for a very brief moment, a bright crimson as if bathed in blood. "Maker!" he exclaimed in surprise almost dropping it. Jarvia had taken a step back.

"What was that?" she asked, she seemed rattled. "Why did I…"

"I really have no idea…" He mumbled, he looked at the sword carefully, it was clearly too big for a dwarf and when he had first seen it he had thought it might be human, now handling it, however, it seemed far too light to have been birthed in a human forge. He was also getting a strange feeling from it as if the thing were alive, or had come to life when handed to him… He tried to shrug that off, it was simply too irrational. "I think…" He said cautiously, "It may be Dalish… Ironbark."

"Dalish?"

"Elven" He explained. "They are surface elves who live apart from humans seeking to retain their own customs and language…"

He held it up straight against his eye line attempting to see if it bore any traces of Elvish script, there was none that he could discern, but then the light in the cave was very dim. Instinctively he ran a finger along the flat of the blade, attempting to feel for any etchings and as he did so, it lit up again, different colours following the track of his hand, an intricate tracery of script that he recognised as Dalish. His mouth went dry.

"How much would you want for this, Jarvia?" He asked. He must be going mad; he could almost swear that the sword gave an excited leap in his grip.

"More than you could ever pay, Surfacer…" Jarvia seemed to have recovered from her initial surprise and held out her hand.

"What do you know what I could pay, Jarvia?" She sneered; he guessed he did not look over-impressive or prosperous clad only in his smalls. However, he returned it to her with a resigned sigh. The sword seemed to still and die in his grasp as he did so. "Peace?" He asked, hopefully, "In exchange for not disclosing your former identity?" He added as an afterthought.

"Peace, for the time being Surfacer," she snarled in reply. "And be ready we depart in an hour…"

* * *

Jarvia's squad of twelve, not including Alistair, had been allocated to clear the farthest branch of Glogar's Passage the one that went off to the right. Alistair was not very surprised at this, it seemed obvious by now that the other squadrons and their leaders wanted the least possible to do with theirs. He exchanged serene waves with his former Warden companions as they marched past.

"Do we know how long this corridor is?" He inquired of Jarvia; in response, she simply shook her head.

He had studied the composition of Jarvia's squad and had noted that she was emphasising distance combat over melee, composed as it was of seven archers/crossbow dwarves and five melee fighters including the Orchid herself.

Recalling the difficulty Neriya, he and the companions had had taking her down in the first place, given a similar composition, Alistair thought she showed good strategic awareness since she obviously had experience in commanding a similar squad.

The entrance to the corridor they had been allocated was fairly low and Alistair was slightly taken aback by feeling the roof skimming the tips of his hair. However, this was just the preliminary stage and the squad found itself on a path descending steeply downwards into a much higher vault, which was darkish, hot and dusty and filled with an appalling stench.

Alistair gagged and so did several squad members. Not Jarvia. She must be used to the stench of carrion, he thought. "Surfacer?" she said seemingly smiling in amusement.

Alistair did his best to compose himself. "Can't sense anything yet," He said his voice hoarse.

"Onwards, then." They advanced into the gloom checking all the time that the walls around them were continuous, that there were no significant cracks or tunnels through which Dark spawn could emerge.

Eventually he tapped on Jarvia's shoulder as they had agreed he pointed in the direction from which he was picking up the vibrations that felt as if they were scraping at the inside of his skull and held up six fingers. Jarvia nodded her mouth set and straight.

Barely before, they had time to adjust their formation they were under attack. The seven bow dwarves forming a line and beginning to fire. With a tart "Stay" to Alistair as if her were an errant dog, Jarvia faded into the shadows.

Alistair pulled his own crossbow from his back thanking Andraste that he had thought to bring it and, using his height to his advantage, took a place behind the other seven firing quarrels into the melee.

It was not his preferred mode of combat or even one in which he had developed any particular skill, but he felt obliged to do something. In the darkness ahead, he saw a momentary flash and thought he recognised Jarvia's blade. He imagined, since she had not troubled to brief him, that Jarvia and the other skirmishers had performed a flanking movement and that the bodies of the Dark spawn were now placed between the arrows and the blades, hammers and axes.

It was over quite abruptly, Jarvia returning with blood in her sparse hair and a ferocious grin. The legionnaires proceeded to strip the Dark spawn corpses of anything usable or valuable with great alacrity.

There were several such encounters in quick succession but still Jarvia urged them onwards, until even the strongest were beginning to falter. Alistair wondered at the wisdom of this but thought to bite his tongue.

In what turned out to be the final confrontation of that day they were fighting in the usual formation when one of the dwarves standing next to Alistair uttered a guttural cry, it seemed a genlock had outflanked the flankers and had driven a sword into his side. Despite his fatigue, Alistair drew quickly at the same time aiming a hard kick in the genlock's general direction and meeting armour. Catching the creature off-balance, he dispatched it rapidly, feeling, for a brief moment as he delivered the final blow, a shard of satisfaction leap through him, something no amount of quarrel shooting could give him.

Checking either side of the line archers' line and the flanks, he returned to where the dwarf lay. That particular fight now appeared to be at an end so sheathing Starfang; he bent down to check the state of the injured dwarf. He was in a bad way, the wound seemed deep there was a lot of blood and he appeared to be in great pain but was biting his lips to avoid making any sound. He still clutched his bow.

Quietly asking him to forgive him, Alistair turned him on his side to carry out a more thorough examination, not that he had any expertise but no one else seemed to be doing it. A few minutes later one of the other archers whom Alistair now realised was female knelt beside her companion and, having removed her helmet, embraced him weeping silently, her tears making clean tracks down the dirt on her face. The injured dwarf mumbled something and, with an effort, put out a hand to touch her hair.

Suddenly he realised Jarvia was behind them so he stood up and shook his head at her. Jarvia smiled and remarked, "We can use him…"

Before he could grasp what she was saying, she turned and started delivering curt orders to other squad members who approached the injured dwarf. The grieving female stood up and confronting Jarvia shouted: "No you are not going to use Nallond like that, no, I won't let you…"

Jarvia pushed the female's shoulder so she staggered back and said in her gravally voice, "You will do as I say…"

"He served well, faithfully, is this what you are going to do to him? Doesn't he deserve better?"

"We are all dead anyway, as well you know, Yenla, that's your name, isn't it, little nug bitch?"

Meanwhile four of the other dwarves grabbed Nallond who moaned piteously, at last loosing his self-control, by his arms and legs and started to drag him away.

"What…" said Alistair, confused by what was happening.

Yenla abruptly turned to face him, Alistair noticed that her nose was bent and twisted from having previously been broken.

"Our commander is going to use him as bait for an ambush, while he still lives…" She said very clearly despite there being a whistle in her voice, probably caused by the nose Alistair thought. Nallond started to scream in agony and the four carrying him just dropped him on the cavern floor a few metres away.

Alistair turned to Jarvia. "That is not appropriate…" He said to her.

"None of your business, Surfacer," she replied, "You are just a scout… You have no authority here."

Yenla launched herself at Jarvia's face but was caught and restrained by one of the dwarves who had just dumped Nallond.

Amidst the ensuing confusion, Alistair took a few quick steps towards where he lay.

Behind him, Jarvia laughed and touching the struggling Yenla's cheek said to her, "I'll teach you your lesson later…"

With great effort, Nallond had managed to turn himself on his back, looking up at Alistair he mouthed, "Do it."

Alistair drew Starfang from over his shoulder with a smooth hiss and asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Nallond very loudly, "yes."

Selecting a gap in his cheap splint mail Alistair drove Starfang through the centre of his chest with a single blow. At his back Yenla screamed and started weeping hysterically.

Alistair stopped to wipe Starfang on some rags he tore from a Hurlock corpse and made his way back to the dwarves sheathing his blade for the second time within an hour. "I am sorry." He said to the still hysterical Yenla.

"My sword slipped." He told Jarvia meeting her inquiring stare full on.

Alistair was pretty much left to his own devices that evening when they made camp. Even Yenla seemed to look at him reproachfully. Surprisingly he found he had an appetite and gnawed savagely at the hunk of dried meat and lye bread he was given. Turning his back on the campfire, he also slumbered deeply until he was kicked awake to take his turn on watch.

* * *

The following day Oswyn repaired to the market to collect his furs but found no trace of the man to whom he had spoken. Nor did the other traders seem particularly interested in helping him with his polite enquiries responding with bland indifference.

For the first time in years, realising he had been duped, Oswyn felt a wave of rage surge through him. Following his confinement in Howe's dungeon he had struggled for a long time to control his anger aware that in the circumstances if he let it run lose it may end up consuming him entire.

When Zinthal came by to see him that afternoon she therefore found him in a very confused state.

"Oh, Oswyn." she said when he angrily told her what had happened. He had not asked her to sit down, she noticed, "In that case perhaps you should take me along."

"And how in Thedas—"

"We flirt." She said opening her eyes very wide, "Behave as if we were lovers…"

Oswyn was silent for quite a long time. "I—"

Zinthal reached out and touched his hand, her bracelets clanking, "Darling…"

"… Can't do that." Concluded Oswyn.

"Why not?"

"Because…"

"Well, as you are going to be Alistair's fixer, Oswyn, it might be good for you to learn how to improvise… Unless you prefer your own gender…" she added quietly.

"I do not…" He spluttered "and I am not Alistair's 'fixer'!"

Zinthal beamed at him, "Of course not, you are his friend who just wants to help… and _I_, Oswyn, am a noble hunter and not a whore…"

He shook his head avoiding her eyes, "I didn't…"

She took his hand, "It's easy, Oswyn, let me show you how…"

* * *

The second day transpired much the same; there were only a few minor injuries and no perceptible difference in Jarvia's behaviour towards him. However, that night he was woken by her raucous cries of sexual pleasure. Her partner barely emitted a few soft whimpers as if she were in pain.

Shortly afterwards Yenla returned to her sleeping spot near him. Alistair was sure some of the others must have been awakened too but they gave no sign of it. Yenla was only wearing what appeared to be a coarse sack and sat down cross-legged with her back to him. Her arms were thin and white and her shoulders were trembling despite the heat in the tunnel. After a while, she turned around and met his gaze.

He noticed for the first time that her brown mid-length hair was streaked with grey and she wore a large-linked clunky silverite chain around her neck.

"Cloudhead," she said softly, "Nallond was not… No, he wasn't… He was my _salroka_, only that…"

Not knowing fully why, he nodded and after looking at him for a while more, Yenla turned away with a sigh and let herself drop on to her bedroll.

About an hour later, her breathing had become very regular but Alistair was still awake. His hands were clenching almost convulsively.

They practised holding hands, they practised looking into each other's eyes and smiling at each other, they practised whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears, they practiced embracing, and they practised kissing.

It wasn't that Oswyn didn't know how to do these things, indeed a few years before the Blight, before Howe, he had been quite the lady-killer… Then things had changed, or rather turned upside down and soured.

Dean came into the kitchen while they were practising a kissing embrace, Zinthal standing on a chair and stretching up with her arms around Oswyn's neck, their lips were moving against each other's he noticed. He cleared his throat so they knew he was there, took a good look noticing that Oswyn's hand was neatly perched on Zinthal's attractive backside, just where his would be if… He poured himself a beer from the new barrel, took a sip, looked some more and then left.

Oswyn pulled away once he was out of sight, he was sure his cheeks were flushed.

"As I said," said Zinthal twirling her hair and appearing to ignore his embarrassment, "it was good practice to do that in front of somebody."

* * *

The next morning Jarvia seemed happier than usual and Yenla was completely subdued. Alistair tried to exchange some friendly words with her but received only monosyllables in reply. Although he saw some of the other dwarves thumping Yenla on the back in a friendly manner and punching her arm, overall the squad's mood seemed to be very morose despite Jarvia's merriment.

The reached the end of the main cavern and were confronted with three further branches.

Jarvia turned to Alistair: "Surfacer…"

He gave her a dumb smile and rubbed his face. "Let me see…"

Alistair went to the entrance to the first passageway and leaned against the living rock, tilting his head against it, crossing his legs, closing his eyes, listening carefully to the sounds in his head. He did the same at the second one and then at the third. He felt the sweat slowly trickle from his messy hair, to his neck, then under his armour and down his back. He sensed the dwarves and Jarvia especially getting impatient. He realised he didn't give a shit.

Therefore, he ambled back over to Jarvia, "You want to fight lots of Darkspawn? Seems to me they're all chocker… I can't tell how many from this distance; I can't tell if the tunnels are joined at some point. If I were you I'd just take my pick and run with it."


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

Dragon 9:34

Cassus/Haring Orzammar [Present]

"Is it me or is he a little late?" Asked Oswyn. They were in a reserved part of the Stone Grill, one of the best eateries in Orzammar.

"He's late, but it's his privilege…"

"So you've seen a fish…" Said Oswyn resuming their previous conversation.

"Yes occasionally we get some down here. They're such a rarity, Oswyn, though, that only nobles eat them and they say they taste is like nothing else in Orzammar…"

"Cats and dogs?"

"Oh yes there are cats here, feral all of them, wherever there are rats, there are cats… And dogs are quite popular as pets, you know those big ugly ones and I've also seen small ones…"

"Birds…"

"One of my friend's children had one once, Oswyn, she showed it to me, it was a tiny small brown thing… It just huddled in the corner of its cage trembling… Apparently Orzammar is cruel to birds, they all die here…" There was an unexpected note of sadness in her voice.

Oswyn took advantage of that to pick up her hand and kiss it. "Just practicing" he said, in case she got the wrong idea.

She smiled, "have you—?"

Dulin came bustling in, "So sorry, Oswyn, the King had some last minute busi— Oh, and who do we have here?" He said gazing at Zinthal who was looking extraordinarily beautiful that evening in a pale blue gown that matched the hue of her eyes covered by a really shiny silverite chain mail, was custom made for her figure, clinging to her breasts and wide thighs. A matching silverite chain was also draped artfully in her long golden blond hair and dipped in the centre of her forehead ending with a teardrop shaped sapphire.

"I am Zinthal Harrak, sire…" She said ducking her head modestly and then quickly glancing sideways at Oswyn. He noticed that the jewel swayed alluringly in front of her lowered face at approximately the same level as her well-presented cleavage.

"Ah… I have heard of you…," said Dulin embracing her shoulders lightly.

"Only good things, I hope, sire…" She said raising her head and smiling at him.

"Very good things indeed…" Replied Dulin grinning widely. Then he turned to Oswyn, "Oswyn, you old rogue, first the porridge and now this… You are acclimatising far too well for a Topsider, you know, I am truly impressed… We better watch out or you Fereldans will take the best of Orzammar and be away with it before us natives even realise it's gone..."

Oswyn smiled, attempting to look as though he was taking all this suavely in his stride. "Shall we order chancellor Dulin?"

* * *

Jarvia picked the middle corridor, despite his words had it been left to Alistair that was the last one he would have chosen. He thought it was preferable to have at least the possibility of one solid wall on either side.

Notwithstanding his reservations, it actually turned out to be a good choice. There was one group of Darkspawn there in the tunnel and they were quickly dispatched. In half an hour, they came to a mossy ledge overlooking a much larger cavern the air of which was surprisingly fresh compared to the foulness of the main corridor. There was an underground stream running through it, perhaps that was the source of the freshness, Alistair speculated.

The only thing that really spoilt the view was that there were a few dozen Darkspawn roaming down below. Therefore, the archers placed themselves at the sides hiding behind what outcrops they could find and the crossbow people including Alistair dropped down on their bellies and at Jarvia's command, they began to shoot.

After a while, the ancient dwarf lying next to Alistair said "Topsider" and looking at him appraisingly, added "The wimmin are sayin' ye're good lookin'… to me you look 'bout as appetising as a nug's hairy ballock… A nug's _dirty_ hairy ballock, actually" The dwarf was white-haired, well he would have been if his hair wasn't full of filth as everybody's was, and had a long whitish plaited beard and a beaky nose, he was nodding. Alistair guessed the beard was plaited to avoid it being caught in the crossbow.

"Thanks…" said Alistair somewhat vaguely because he was trying to concentrate on his shooting, the old timer beside him seemed to be the kind that could aim, fire and hit in his sleep.

"But that's na the worst of it, Topsider…"

"Really…"

"Ye shoot like a nug's dirty hairy ballock would shoot if a nug's dirty hairy ballock _could_ shoot…"

Alistair shook his head. Coping with the old timer's sarcasm, the mental irritation caused by the Darkspawn presence and the knowledge of his own shortcomings as a crossbowman was getting a bit too much…

"So when are ye doin' it?" The old-timer whisper.

"Doing what?" He asked.

"Ye knows." Said the dwarf wiggling his bushy eyebrows most suggestively.

"No, I don't know…"

"Taking ha down…" Said the dwarf in an urgent spittle-filled whisper.

"I'm…"

"Yeah, ye're I've seen how ye look at ha and it ain't love for sure… Anyways ye can count on ald Whurrin t'assist ye…"

Alistair shook his head again, "You are mistaken…," he said primly.

"Incoming" said Jarvia's voice behind them, at this cue the brawlers started charging down the tunnel; it was not until then that Alistair who had been so distracted noticed that the grotto below them was empty save for numerous dead and seriously injured Darkspawn.

"Well, let's see how ye performs with that fancy sword of ye,'" said Whurrin.

Alistair jumped up and drew Starfang, but rather than follow Jarvia and the others down the tunnel he stationed himself at its exit onto the ledge. He heard shouts and screams lower down it and the churning grinding sounds of swords and other weapons being used in a confined space. To his surprise, Whurrin got up somewhat more slowly and drawing a rusted curved, ancient blade stood opposite him winking.

Yenla and the other bow dwarves also stood to the sides. Those that had them and not all did, unsheathed their melee weapons. Suddenly there was a yell and a scream and Jarvia emerged backwards from the tunnel falling on the moss hard on her rump. The large Hurlock responsible charged from the tunnel only to be quickly sliced and diced by Alistair and Whurrin from either side. The old timer finished him off by running his chest through where he had collapsed.

By that time, Jarvia was on her feet and with a quick nod to Alistair and Whurrin and a blood-curdling cry plunged back into the darkness again. _She has guts,_ Alistair thought, he would give her that.

Oswyn very authoritatively ordered a fish starter for himself and Zinthal. It was worth the inordinate expense just to see her roll her eyes and smack her lips at him when Dulin was not looking. Dulin had deepstalker pate and then they all had the nug for main. Each dish was served with a different kind of ale, lighter for the fish, richer for the pate and heavier for the nug but Oswyn could not help missing fruit, milk and wine from the surface.

* * *

"So how did you two meet, then?" Asked Dulin.

They had practiced for this Oswyn smiled shyly and Zinthal batted her eyelids. "In Tapsters, I was there with some friends and Oswyn—" …

"I offered to buy her a drink." He said

"I'd never met a human before…" Added Zinthal.

"Well this human," Said Dulin nodding amiably at Oswyn, "is almost an honorary dwarf… Do you know that on his first morning here he actually finished a bowl of moss porridge? Remarkable…"

"Wow…" said Zinthal.

Halfway through the nug course Dulin looked at Oswyn and said, "So how can I help you _salroka_?"

Dwarven cuisine did not extend to dessert but they had a sampling of different mushrooms on lightly toasted lye bread as a finisher.

* * *

They were skirmishing for about half an hour more and Alistair and Whurrin killed several more darkspawn with some help from the other dwarves. Once a genlock fell out of the narrow passageway flat on its face and Yenla buried a small sharp dagger in its neck before it even knew where it was.

Jarvia appeared to be extremely tired when she dragged herself out again. "I think we should make camp…" Alistair suggested but she looked at him with disdain. They went out back through the tunnel and entered the one to the left, which was almost blocked with darkspawn corpses and led directly to the cavern with the stream they had been overlooking.

As they emerged, Alistair looked uneasily up at the ledge where they had recently been standing. "I don't like this," he muttered to Whurrin.

"What are you saying Topsider?" demanded Jarvia.

"Have you cleared the tunnel to the right?" Asked Alistair.

"What is that to you?"

"Because if you haven't and if it goes somewhere else we could be trapped in the same way these dead Darkspawn down here were trapped by us… I would suggest…"

"It is not your place to sugg—"

"I know I am just a scout, just some bloody useless Grey Warden, but with all due respect, it's not my first time down here, and it's not my first fight, it's not even my _hundredth_ fight!" He felt himself getting angry, "Thick human though I may be, even _I_ can see you are leaving us exposed to an attack from the rear and above..." He was shouting now and his words were echoing throughout the cavern.

Whurrin cleared his throat and said in a low voice, "He's right, you know, Ma'm… Topsider though he is…"

"And who asked you anything? You shrivelled waste of dwarven hide… your pecker's so limp and wrinkled you couldn't even please me for half a minute…"

It was quiet for a moment then Whurrin laughed heartily, a deep rumbling sound. "As if I'd care to pleasure an insolent, leaky, loose-fannied chit like ya even at my age…"

Jarvia lunged for him and he barely had time to step aside. Alistair interposed himself between them.

"Get out of my way you oversized freak…" snarled Jarvia.

"Slag heap slut!" Shouted Whurrin from behind Alistair.

"Look, this isn't helping any…" Alistair said trying to be reasonable but drawing at the same time.

"You dare to—"

"We're all tired… Today's been a long day, I say we go outside make camp and get some rest…" He suggested in what he hoped was a friendly tone.

"And I say I should have skewered you like a nug the moment I clapped eyes on you…" screamed Jarvia attacking him. Alistair blocked her blade with Starfang.

"Stop it, stop it, don't make me…"

"And used your danglers for earrings…" she turned quickly and attempted a low stab that Alistair barely managed to knock away.

"Oh now you play the submissive Topsider! Want to warm my bedroll tonight in exchange for your miserable life?" she cried and went for his throat.

Still attempting to be passive and struggling to detach his shield Alistair took some hurried steps back and slipped… moving into a squat he was able to use it to block her strike just in the nick of time. As the clang of her stroke jarred his left arm, he launched himself off his toes and, in a rather unorthodox manoeuvre, hit her heavily on the side of the face with his shield.

Jarvia went flying with a yelp. He thought he heard her cheekbone crunch.

Standing over her breathing deeply Alistair said, "Give me your sword…" He hardly expected her to comply, but comply she did, although she seemed to be bodily struggling against an overwhelming impulse… suddenly he understood something about that sword.

Naturally, it briefly glinted scarlet again as he took it and a murmur went through the congregated dwarves.

He sighed, relaxed for a brief moment but then because Jarvia appeared to be reaching for something in her boot, gave her a quick sharp kick in the kidneys.

* * *

After the supper and the leisurely follow-up conversation having secured Dulin's agreement for a fair amount of discretion for Alistair in exchange for a few high-profile appearances, as Zinthal had anticipated, Oswyn, Zinthal, and the dwarven chancellor parted ways.

Oswyn was feeling particularly happy because he felt he had achieved something, he had also enjoyed the play-acting with Zinthal and he was finding her ever more attractive.

That not only she looked sweet and beautiful, but also it had occurred to him this evening that it was within his gift to offer her a dazzling array of new experiences. The thought was empowering. The taste of fish was just a starting point; he wondered how many more things he could introduce her to, what would she say of a meadow in flower? How would she react to snow? Wine? Honey?

It occurred to him that her cultural differences and personality offered an almost ideal combination: She would react with the innocence of a child to so many things that he took for granted in his world yet at the same time she was an adult and an affectionate, intelligent and astute one at that… and, of course, good-looking.

It was entertaining those thoughts that caused him to look down at her and smile. Zinthal smiled back, _was she blushing?_ Oswyn put out his hand intending that she should take it, but, to his surprise, she shook her head…

"I have to go now, Oswyn," she said.

"Go, where?" He said the surprise showing in his voice.

"Why… To meet Dulin of course…" She replied blinking hard her eyes looking up at him brighter than the jewel on her forehead. "We arranged it when you excused yourself to go to the privy…"

"Du—"

"I… Oh by the ancestors and paragons, Oswyn… I thought that was what I was meant to do… we pretend to be friendly, we flirt, so Dulin is impressed by your amorous success and then feels that much better about getting one over you… Business."

"Business..." Echoed Oswyn helplessly.

"Business." Said Zinthal gravely. Then she added. "Business calls."

Before he could voice any concern or objection, she had turned on her heels and was heading in the opposite direction. Speechless he stood rooted to the spot, watching her go, feeling empty.

* * *

Alistair made clear that it was up to the squad to determine what to do with Jarvia. Having taken her down he felt that he had exhausted any legitimate right he may have had to intervene further in the legion's affairs. It was up to them now.

Therefore, he sat apart and away from them where he could neither see nor hear their deliberations. He trusted any decision they took would be sensible and fair, the little he had been able to appreciate of the squad members had indicated they were tough but practical people, typical _dwarva_ in other words.

He wondered what he would do if they decided to re-instate her… Desert? No, that was out of the question, he was committed to this. He had volunteered for this as a Grey Warden and had to honourably abide by that decision whatever course events took. He pondered whether he regretted coming to the Deep Roads again and decided he did not. For all the bad things that had happened there was much good, he had found himself as a Warden again, reconnected to the order at the most elementary and significant level, had proved to himself he could do it…

He must have fallen asleep because he was with Bregeth and Niamh and they were going on a picnic somewhere and packing things in a hamper when he was woken up by Whurrin shaking him.

"Topsider… Come with me."

* * *

Three days later their squad was the last to return to the meeting place at Ortan's Thaig and the most depleted. They were smothered in gore and slowed by fatigue, their faces pale as ashes and their steps hesitant even as they approached the rest of the units.

Durgan stood in front of the thronged ranks of the legion with Dolgan at his side, Alistair limped up to him with a tense expression on his face. "That passageway…" He croaked making brief eye contact "Cleared… There was a brood mother, her head…" He said extracting it from a leather bag one of the squad's dwarves proffered to him. Durgan's bushy eyebrows lowered as he grimaced but he took the trophy, passed it to one of his subordinates, and then crossed his arms over his chest again.

Alistair pulled himself up a little straighter, "Casualties: Nallond Garadun, duster, Cadas Reiast, duster, Kalir Faderg, servant caste," He paused before the last name, "Whurrin Garkarin, smith class. They all served with honour and fell in battle. I therefore accordingly request that their names be entered into the Memories and included among the Legion's glorious dead who have returned with nobility to the Stone."

Durgan nodded curtly.

"Finally, I would request to be relieved of my temporary command…"

Durgan, after exchanging a surprised glance with Dolgan, cleared his throat, "You are relieved."

Alistair's features relaxed and he stepped aside, then Yenla scurried forward with her pack and dropped what remained of Jarvia's head at Durgan's feet and all hell broke loose.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

Dragon 9:34

Cassus/Haring Orzammar [Present]

Zinthal came to visit Oswyn around midday the next day and Dean answered the door. "Tell her I'm too busy to see her," Oswyn instructed Dean curtly, "and that I will be busy for the rest of today."

Dean scowled but apparently did what he was told. When he came back, he said to Oswyn, "Next time _you_ can answer the bloody door."

This falling out was inconvenient because Oswyn wanted to get some information from Dean regarding his contacts for selling the lyrium and Dean was unusually short with him.

"Frankly, I didn't care where the stuff was destined or what it would be used for, as long as I got something for it…"

With a little more persistence, he admitted, "I am not a thinker like you… By my estimate, 90% of the wretched stuff was sold to Orlais or here in Ferelden. Our King is not one for detail, not sure that he'd be happy about that last… but in any event, and replying to your question, no it was not sold further afield, at least not by us…"

Oswyn spent the afternoon pondering a detailed map of Thedas he had arranged to be copied from the Shaperate, spread out on the kitchen table. He found himself wishing he had paid more attention to the basic instruction his tutor gave him in the geography and history of Thedas. Not that that was very much, education for scions of the nobility in Ferelden tended to concentrate more on practical skills such as shooting and fighting with some local politics thrown in… but it would have been a starting point.

Looking at the map he focused on Jader from there it seemed to him it would be relatively straightforward to navigate the Waking Sea and reach Kirkwall, the capital of the Free Marches and then Cumberland, the main port city of Neverra, two completely new markets for trade, without the lyrium having to travel excessively overland.

On balance, thinking about what had happened with Orlais, leading to this recent market crash, most of it could be attributed to the initial but understandable lack of ambition on the part of the Fereldans who had sold themselves short. After all, neither Alistair nor Dean were merchants or minded like such and their first, desperate, objective had been simply to secure grain or funds to avert a famine.

Even Oswyn was aware that in the last few years there had been some attempts to purchase grain from the Free Marches, the breadbasket of Thedas, to make up for the shortfalls caused by the Blight and undermine Orlais's stranglehold on the Fereldan market. Those attempts meant there would be contacts in Kirkwall, maybe it was possible to up the ante and carry out some more lucrative trade rather than just exchanging lyrium for cereals. Kirkwall was after all a Templar redoubt and where there were Templars, lyrium at a good price would be in demand…

Then there was Cumberland, the gateway to Nevarra, he thought he had heard somewhere there was a circle of mages in Cumberland. He should check that. He began making notes.

Things seemed to be coming together, now what he needed to do once he got back to Denerim was clear, check those connections with Kirkwall and Cumberland. The only problem was that Jader was an Orleisian port but perhaps there would be Fereldan contacts there, as a last resort, there was always bribery.

He felt he now had a few things to put before Alistair, once he returned.

* * *

"I guess you did the legion all a favour, including my beloved bro,'" said Dolgan somewhat grudgingly "but I am not sure you should have interpreted my advice that literally…"

Alistair shrugged. The truth was he was so fatigued, he had slept well the previous night for the first time in over a week that he had no strength for verbal sparring or even just talking.

"In any event, I owe you an apology… I didn't know that Stone Orchid was Jarvia and I didn't realise you knew Jarvia, if I had… By the way, it was decided you can keep that sword, wretched thing seems to favour you in any event, no other member of the legion would touch it, it's on Mabya..."

Alistair ran a hand before his face as if to brush something away. "Are you all right?" Dolgan asked him.

"I really don't feel like talking now, and even less about these last few days…"

"Makes a change." Quipped Dolgan.

"Just enjoy it while it lasts… By the way, where is Marcus?" Alistair said looking around at their party.

Dolgan hesitated, "With your Maker, I hope…"

"You mean…"

"His calling was due, Alistair, he wanted to do it the traditional way so we took him along… Again, I'm sorry… He told me to tell you that he felt he had come on too strong in that last conversation you two had, if you know what he meant… He had a simple background…" Dolgan shook his shoulders as if to loosen them, "He was a farmer, Darkspawn killed his family, he joined up, did his bit, did his best…"

Alistair closed his eyes and then nodded. After a while, he slowed down, waited for Khegst to approach with Mabya, and then, greeting her and patting her side, matched his pace to that of the bronto.

* * *

The next day Oswyn was making his way to the Shaperate when he thought he saw Zinthal coming in the opposite direction. Hoping she had not espied him, he ducked into a convenient doorway until she walked past. A few moments later, he stepped out again.

A few moments after that, someone grabbed his sleeve. "Oswyn."

He looked down and sagged. Zinthal said, "I am sorry I disappointed you, but I think it was a misunderstanding… Our worlds must be very different…"

"Zinthal, I…" _What? Was confused by your behaviour? Confused by my reaction to it? Feel embarrassed because I did nothing to prevent you going with Dulin when I should have done? Didn't know I was such an unreasonably puritanical asshole... Am quite possibly jealous?_ He decided to take another tack, "How, ahem, did it go with Dulin?"

"Oh, well enough… You know the usual…" Suddenly, apart from all the above qualms Oswyn, felt his curiosity had been piqued… _What was 'the usual' for someone like Zinthal? A dwarf, a woman and a brand?_

"You know…" He said, "I don't quite understand what 'the usual' means…"

Zinthal put a hand on one of her wide hips and her bracelets clanked, "Well I can't imagine Humans are that different from _dwarva_, Oswyn, you are all men after all…"

_Another thing to be avoided,_ "Do you recall when I got offended because you suggested I might be Alistair's fixer?"

Zinthal nodded.

"Well, I was wrong to get upset… I guess if I am not already Alistair's fixer I am going to be … I think I might enjoy that… But… Look, suppose I do buy you a drink and you tell me what happened… So I can get it from your point of view… But you don't have to give me all the details… Just…"

* * *

It seemed that their journey back was going to be even more uneventful than their journey there and Alistair was quite happy with that. He had begun to find himself thinking about all the unresolved issues he had left behind: the lyrium, Bann Coerlic, Niamh… So when he let the group amble ahead so he could take a pee in peace against the cavern wall, he was somewhat distracted.

That was until he heard a bellowing noise, something was obviously disturbing Mabya so he tucked up quickly and went to draw. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his left thigh, like an insect sting but more intense. He looked down and unbelievingly saw an arrow pointing out from a gap in his armour…

Swallowing hard he drew in any event and staggered a few steps supporting himself against the cave wall. Before he well knew what was happening Mabya rushed passed him followed closely by Khegst and the other dwarves in full battle cry… Wisely they paid him no attention whatsoever as they fell upon the small band of Darkspawn that appeared to have been following them.

Alistair tried to walk a few steps more but his left leg did not seem to be responding, he reached down to the arrow and tried to pull at it but when he did so what had been gelid numbness turned into a prickly burning fire of excruciating pain, he nearly. It seemed to be embedded very deeply; he knew from experience that that being the case it was better to leave it well alone for the time being.

Feeling helpless and useless he put all of his effort in holding himself upright and waving Starfang pathetically in front of him so as to discourage any Darkspawn who might believe he was easy pickings. Fortunately, the battle was going well for the wardens.

Dolgan was the first to approach, "Alistair…" He said almost affectionately putting his hand around his waist to support him. He made a gesture towards the dart, Alistair shook his head.

"In deep is it?" He growled, Alistair nodded not trusting himself to say yes without moaning. "All right let's sit you down…" and aided by Volkur who was suddenly on his other side they helped lower Alistair down until he was in a sitting position against the cavern wall.

"Looks as though we're gonna have to camp here tonight, lads," Said Dolgan. "And you, pretty boy, put your head on your knees… That's right… Volkur put his sword back in his scabbard for him, will you?"

Volkur did as he was told. "Time to use your training now, Volkur…" Volkur nodded mutely and went towards Mabya. "Arrrgh fuck and here was I hoping we'd all get back to Orzammar in one piece… Those of us left, anyway…" said Dolgan rubbing his hands.

"Stupid…" Muttered Alistair.

"What was that, lad?"

"Sorry… I was stupid"

"Well these _are_ the Deep Roads, these things happen here, even when you're taking a piss… But you know that. Good job Mabya picked 'em up, otherwise we'd've been a mile away before we realised you were missing… And she ran straight towards them, too, rather than in the opposite direction…"

Volkur returned with a small package wrapped in cloth and began to kindle a fire.

Dolgan purposely moved himself so he blocked Alistair's view of these preparations. "That sword…" He said, "Do you know anything about it?"

"Da… Elven" murmured Alistair.

"But what was it doing down here?"

Alistair shrugged, "Who knows?" He said weakly, "Down here… everything…"

"Khegst," Dolgan shouted over his shoulder, "Do we have any alcohol? You know poncy stuff, the kind of stuff that won't make this Surfacer here toss up straightaway… Weak stuff." He grinned back at Alistair.

Alistair tapped his dark dragonbone cuirass with his hand… "You have some, pretty boy? Under that nice armour?" Alistair nodded, "I guess we're gonna have to help you out of it sometime soon anyways…" Dolgan reached up for Alistair's shoulders and began to undo the strap on his cuirass.

"So that sword, why does it shine, when _you_ handle it Surfacer, that's what I don't understand…" Alistair shook his head.

Dolgan continued to loosen the armour with his stumpy practical fingers "I mean, I've heard of reactive swords, swords that respond to the wielder, but it's usually to their blood… You're not an elf by any chance are you?" Alistair shook his head again and tried to grin, but Dolgan continued to ponder "I mean I've met elves, plenty of 'em and they are not as big as you an' your ears aint pointy…" Just in case, he double-checked, "Anyways…" he concluded as he shucked the cuirass.

Alistair put his hand in his surcoat and pulled out a small solid looking silver hip flask with an 'A' engraved on it, popped the seal and took a long good swallow that ended in a bit of a splutter. He proffered the flask to Dolgan who took a swig and then looked at it appreciatively.

"Antivan brandy…" Said Alistair.

"Aye…" Said Dolgan, "Only the best for you, ha? Methinks you're gonna need the rest…" and he returned the flask to him. Alistair sighed and helped himself.

* * *

They purposely avoided Tapsters because it was too public. Zinthal steered them to a little place that was practically a slightly modified two-floor dwelling house where they were shown to a private room upstairs.

Oswyn was happy to let Zinthal order. "I'm sorry…" He repeated once the servant girl had left.

Zinthal shrugged, "Oswyn happens all the time… What I do has nothing to do with emotions… I cannot let that stuff interfere; it's business, that's how I have to think of it. The business of survival… If I were to start feeling things… But I realise it may be different for some other people, although that doesn't happen often, I think most of my clients are pretty jaded…"

"I'm…"

"Not. No, you're not, no. What was it that you said when were kissing that it was sometime since…"

"It is. Since this, really…" He gestured towards his legs.

"I don't want to pry."

"Oh, I need to tell, occasionally. About four years ago, I was… kidnapped, I guess, on a winter's eve… During a night on the town if you have to know, leaving a tavern. Drunk and merry as a sailor… Such an easy mark…"

"Were you held to ransom?"

"That kind of thing happens here too?"

Zinthal opened her hands, "All the time."

"Well, that may have been the original idea but then… Things got out of control… It seems they started having fun with me so one objective superseded the other…"

"Super—"

"Took over from the other…"

"Fun…" Echoed Zinthal.

"You know…"

"Oh, I know…" Zinthal looked at the table and shook her head.

The servant girl came back with their order. "Of course you do." Said Oswyn.

* * *

They wrapped a makeshift tourniquet around his thigh. "Well…" Dolgan said standing looking down at Alistair, "You know what's coming… Time to think about all those beautiful women you've made love to lately and thank your Maker it didn't get you through the balls…"

Alistair glanced at Volkur who was squatting intently next to him holding what appeared to be a very thin sharp knife in the flames.

"Eh, eh, eh…"Said Dolgan chucking Alistair on the chin and turning his face towards him, "Stupid boy, you know we don't look… Here." He removed his belt, folded it in half and proffered it to him. "Bite… Think of all those pretty women."

"Think of Mabya, Alistair… She loves you…" Cried Khegst, from the other side of the cavern and they all laughed, including Alistair. Then Volkur put the knife against his skin and the pain started…

* * *

When Zinthal woke up very often, she had to remind herself where she was and whom she was with and that night was no exception. When she turned and saw the tall man sitting up next to her it all came back pretty quickly. His chest wasn't as hairy as most dwarf's just a few swatches of pale fuzz but she found she liked the difference. It was more skin to touch rather than pelt and she liked touching skin…

"Oswyn," she said yawning and stretching quite languorous but quite unselfconsciously, "Can't you sleep, darling?"

"I'm just thinking…"

"Didn't you enjoy yourself?"

He leaned over and kissed her, _oh yes_, she thought as their mouths came together, _this one was_ _very gentle, very emotional,_ and he had clung to her as he came as if she were the last female in Thedas or at least the last noble hunter in Orzammar. "Of course I did," He said "but I realise that I have done nothing for you that any male hasn't already done for you since your teens probably…"

"Well, you _are_ my first human, Oswyn…"

"And not different at all from male _dwarva_, huh?"

Zinthal wondered if she was going to regret having made that earlier remark. But Oswyn did not seem to be bitter, just matter-of-fact. "Well if I am going to give you something to remember me by, it's not going to be… Sex… Because that's really just… What it is..."

He leaned over and began to light the lamp by the bed. "How would you like to come for a walk?" he said.

"A walk?"

"See something you have never seen before…"

"Ahhh…" Said Zinthal shifting in the warm bed and attempting to work out how to decline tactfully.

"Come on lazybones," and he reached over and pinched her bum. Well, she guessed, it was good he had already reached a comfortable level with her.

He dressed himself very quickly very efficiently and then, helped her to dress. "Capes, we need capes…"

He took her hand and they left as they headed towards the Hall of Paragons a sense of panic hit her. As they started walking through the Hall itself she tugged at his hand, "No, Oswyn, just no, I am not going outside, I…"

"Shhhh," He said putting a finger to his lips.

"I mean it! The ancestors will hate me, they…"

"And what will they do about it?" He asked stopping, he seemed amused.

Zinthal opened her mouth she was going to say she would loose her caste, her honour, but… Then she realised and sagged.

"So?" Said Oswyn. He bent down and whispered his breath hot in her ear, "it's late and dark, no-one will know but you and I… Ever…"

"As you say." She said resignedly.

"Thank you for your trust." He said, he was sincere, she believed.

He let go of her hand. "My colleague and I… We have a meeting; we shall be back in about two hours…" He said to the dwarf at the door who was frankly too tired to do anything but open the gates.

They stepped out and the cold hit them. Zinthal gasped and then clapped one hand over her mouth so the dwarf on the other side would not hear.

* * *

It was sometime before he fainted. He had always been just a tad too tough that way… He woke up perhaps a few hours later to find himself lying on his right side near the fire and Volkur lying facing him, eyes open.

"Hello Alistair, how do you feel…?"

Alistair thought about that for a moment, he did not know whether it was the drink or the ripping pain from his thigh, but his mind seemed to be very dull.

"Like death warmed up…" He replied somewhat tentatively, his lips were cracked and his throat and mouth dry. He put his hand down towards his left leg…

"No, don't touch it Alistair… You don't want it to get infected… Anyway, you'll be happy to hear that I dug out the barb and then stitched you up."

Now that Volkur had mentioned it, Alistair could feel the twine pulling at his skin. He nodded and obediently folded his arm over his chest again.

Volkur sat up rummaged for something then propping Alistair up held a healing potion to his lips. "Here drink this… Hope it helps…" Then as if he read his mind, he reached for a canteen and gave him a few very welcome gulps of water.

"Thank you" Said Alistair really quite touched by all the attention.

"Not at all" said Volkur, lying back down in front of him, "I hope you get better, you're my first patient…"

Alistair shook his head smiling, "I'll do my best then…"

* * *

They walked across the abandoned marketplace and turned left. When they were out of view of the gate Oswyn tugged down his hood and Zinthal's.

"It's a perfect night… Look…" He said pointing up to the stars.

"Stars…"

"Yes…"

"I never thought… They are so high up, how high up are they…"

"No-one really knows, Zinthal."

"_What_ are they?"

"You know that's a really good question…"

"Well?" She asked.

"Well," He said hesitantly, "There are theories… The Chantry says that this, all this" he opened his arms, "Is nothing but a large cavern, like Orzammar, and that the stars are decorations, jewels that the Maker has hung on the cavern roof to beguile us…"

"That's… rubbish. I've never seen a cavern like this that… smells… like this does. It makes no sense."

"I agree. Some people say, some wise folk say, that the stars are other suns… You know the sun…"

"A ball of fire in the sky…"

"Exactly. That warms Thedas and allows us to live and see… That all these stars are other suns, which may be warming and lighting other worlds…"

"With people on them?"

"Who knows? Perhaps…"

Zinthal squinted up at the night sky silently for a few minutes more. Then she reached out and took Oswyn's hand. "Suddenly I feel very small…" She said.

Oswyn laughed, "So do I when I look up at the stars, so do I…"

* * *

The next time he woke up, he thought he was still sleeping because the roof of the cavern seemed to be moving above him. He had never thought that a cavern roof could look so interesting but it did. There were different colours, depths and layers of stone so he spent several minutes studying it in detail and taking it in before he tried to move his limbs, only to discover that he was tied down.

"Ah Alistair," Said Dolgan, "We're on our way home…"

Alistair then realised that he was secured to a sort of sledge that was being dragged by Mabya.

"Be there in about a day, I think. Bet you can't wait to get home… to Denerim, I mean"

"Do I have to…?"

"Do you have to travel like that? Yes. Don't you realised your left leg won't be able to take your weight? And don't mutter to yourself like that, you know I'm right, pretty boy… As usual…"

Dolgan paused a while then looked down at him again smiling, "Tell you what, Surfacer, if you're good, I'll let you sleep between Mabya and Volkur tonight, and they should look after you well enough… And I promise I won't tell anybody…"

Suddenly a strange sound came from Dolgan and his chest started heaving, it took Alistair a little while to realise he was laughing.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

Dragon 9:34

Cassus/Haring Orzammar [Present]

They used Mabya to take him to the foot of the steep staircase that led to Orzammar. Dolgan and Volkur helped Alistair up it as best they could while Khegst backtracked to stable the bronto. There was a lot of cursing in both _dwarva_ and Fereldan and some teasing but eventually they made it to the top. Alistair was given five minutes to recover his breath and then the two dwarves together with some of the dwarven guards assisted him to stumble through Orzammar to the Grey Warden compound where they all collapsed exhausted and were shortly joined by Khegst.

It was late evening so Dolgan arranged for some food and drink to be delivered and then they all took to the available cots. However uncomfortable the cots at the compound were, they were far better than sleeping on a thin bedroll on a cavern floor.

* * *

The next day Volkur changed the dressing on Alistair's wound only to discover that it had not healed as quickly as he had hoped so it was decided that an expert physician should be called.

Alistair sent a message to Oswyn who quickly turned up to see him. He took very calmly the news that Alistair had been injured when he saw him looking generally well sitting on the side of his cot clad in a simple grey warden surcoat and breeches.

Oswyn gave him a brief update on his progress so far and they discussed leaving Orz within the next few weeks because Alistair was eager to get back to Denerim a few days before First Day if that were possible.

That afternoon Lady Helmi paid a surprise visit the compound. She brought along, carried by two servants, a large pot of nug stew that had been prepared in her own kitchen and the dwarven physician used by her family to examine Alistair. She was still wearing the ring he had given her for winning the Proving.

"Well," she said sitting next to Alistair afterwards and putting her small hand on his, "the physician was not happy… He is concerned that there was something on the arrow that will stop the wound healing."

"Has he examined the arrow?" Asked Alistair. It was an ugly thing, it had a long narrow iron head with no less than three sets of curved, jutting barbs. Volkur had had to cut wide and deep in order to extract it.

"Yes, he has, but he says the Darkspawn are prone to use poisons or spells on some of their weaponry but he is no expert in such… He suggested you should be seen by a healer mage but there are none in Orzammar at the moment."

"I feel all right, just a touch dizzy perhaps, that's all…" Replied Alistair.

Lady Helmi looked at him and shook her head, "Yes but it needs to heal, apart from anything else so you can return to Denerim as you wish. The physician said that he has only ever treated dwarves and ideally, you should be seen by someone accustomed to treating humans… Dwarves are tougher than humans, especially when it comes to injuries inflicted by Darkspawn it seems…"

"I'll see…" Said Alistair, he wasn't entirely convinced. "Thank you so much for the food, in any event…"

Lady Helmi shrugged, "It is the least I can do for you wardens. After all, together with the Legion, you are helping to secure the safety of Orzammar."

"My squad found a brood mother and so did one of the others, you know…"

"Horrible, foul creatures…" she murmured shuddering.

"It seems that the Darkspawn were hoping to hem Orzammar in by bringing brood mothers closer to the city… Dolgan is preparing a report for Harrowmont as we speak…" He paused, kissing her quickly on the cheek "Adal… Thank you again, and…"

"Yes, Alistair?"

"You do know what we did was a one-time thing, don't you?"

Lady Helmi drew herself up, "Alistair," she said carefully, "In needing to say that aloud you are just showing how young and inexperienced you are…"

"I…"

"No, no, no…" She held up her hand, "I realise you were not brought up as nobility… and in many ways that's a very good thing, refreshing, if you will… but those of us who are, and I'd be surprised if Ferelden were any different, to be honest with you, are used to being involved in such… ah… temporary liaisons. Discretion is key and it's considered bad form to insist on anything else arising from the affair… We are adults after all…"

"I am grateful. I just wanted to be sure that we stood on equal footing… But that doesn't mean… Well, if there is anything…"

"I am aware of that, despite your occasional indiscretions with women, it seems you are a man of honour and your word… Your reputation does precede you, you know… If you did not have that reputation I would not have solicited your attention as blatantly as I did because it would simply have been too risky, even though I had heard you were hot…"

Alistair laughed.

"You heard that even here in Orzammar?"

"Even here in Orzammar," she replied smiling, "we had heard of fresh young King Alistair of Ferelden and his lovers… and there was this song…"

* * *

That evening Alistair getting fed up of lying around, put on some of his half decent clothes and slipping out, avoiding Volkur who he thought had become a bit overzealous, went to visit the hideout and see how things were progressing for himself. It seemed that he could now make his own way without limping overmuch.

He let himself in with his key. The first thing he saw was the colour scale of five flasks that Oswyn and Dean had used to sort the lyrium on what had been the shop counter. Going into the back, he discovered the kitchen was empty. He looked into the nearest storage room and it seemed to him that it was more orderly than before.

He hesitated before checking out the other storerooms because, there seemed to be some muffled sounds coming from the back room where the beds were… He went into the kitchen and making sure, he was relatively noisy, clanging the tankard and such, poured himself a beer from Dean's barrel. This did not have the desired effect so once he had drunken his beer, shaking his head he went to the bedroom and knocked. "Hello… Oswyn?"

There was what he interpreted as a stunned silence from the other side. He moved back to the kitchen.

Five minutes later a sheepish looking Oswyn, came into the kitchen and slunk into the chair opposite, trailed by a much brighter looking Zinthal. Alistair smiling said, "Hello, Sweetheart." to her and she gave him a naughty grin back.

* * *

Alistair and Oswyn agreed to meet Zinthal later for supper because Alistair wanted to prevent her becoming too involved in the business at hand.

Oswyn explained that between by setting destroying flasks of false lyrium, flasks where the lyrium had degraded, or where it was so diluted that it did not justify the transport costs, they had reduced the total number of flasks from some 5,000 to about 3,500, which in turn they had classified into four strengths.

Oswyn then went into detail about pricing. Finally, he pulled out the map, extended it on the table in the kitchen, and went through with Alistair the possibility of arranging for the lyrium to be transported from Jader to Nevarra and the Free Marches as well as to the heart Orlais, i.e. Val Royeaux, although he had yet to cost this. This would mean cutting out the merchants they had mostly been dealing with on the Fereldan/Orlaisian border at least until such a time as they became prepared to pay more.

Having reached this point and still studying the map, Oswyn then said: "So you set me up with Zinthal on purpose?"

"Not exactly…" Alistair replied tracing the suggested shipping routes on the map with a finger. "I did think we needed help from someone with connections on the ground here in Orzammar and if I had to choose between an equally qualified male and an attractive noble hunter… In the event there was only her anyway."

"She is incredibly sweet…"

"I got that impression."

"Alistair, you don't have to fix my life for me, you know…" Said Oswyn glancing over at him.

"I know and I didn't. You did that yourself… I just gave you an opportunity. Anyway, I have this idea that the happier you are, the clearer you think and I need you thinking clearly. I like your proposals…" He said meeting his eyes, "When we get back to Denerim we'll have to see how viable they are in reality…"

"About that, are you fit to travel now?"

"I think…" as he said this Alistair looked down to his left thigh. "Oh dammit…"

"'Oh dammit'?"

"Seems it's bleeding again…"

"Let me take a look…" Oswyn bent down, "yeah, you breeches have stuck to it… I'm sorry Alistair, bed for you.

"I can't do this, I need to get back to bloody Denerim… I…"

"You told me Adal said you should get a mage?"

"She did."

"Think it's time to do that…"

"Bugger… But you know, there might just be a silver lining to this set back… and it's not only your having supper with Zinthal alone, Oswyn…"

* * *

"… far better than the linen basket option…"

Dean's face was full of a fierce joy, he actually seemed to be gritting his teeth with glee. "I will fly, I will be back before you know it Alistair, I…" he said brandishing the sealed letter as if it were a sword and a good one at that.

"Just go and be bloody careful."

"I will, I will…"

"Linen basket?" Oswyn enquired once Dean had left.

"Do mages do their own washing? No. Do Templars? You must be kidding… so how come mages have all those fancy clean robes and Templars don't prance around, over much at least, in soiled smallclothes? Linen baskets are about the only things that leave the Tower… So Dean and I speculated…"

"What about corpses?"

"Both Templars and mages are seen off Fereldan style on Lake Calenhad, so no… Horrible to think the lake is full of the bodies of unfortunate mages and Templars decaying together… This is a much better way of getting her out. Now help me put together a letter to Anora explaining our delay… I also promised Dolgan and Harrowmont that I'll be more proactive in recruiting Grey Wardens in Ferelden so as to assist Orzammar, so I guess we need to write another one to Dummond."

* * *

When Helena arrived with Dean three days, later Alistair was amazed at how young she looked. She was still a child in appearance, though she had already passed her harrowing and was therefore a fully-fledged mage, her figure was still rounded and plump as were her cheeks, rosy from the fresh air and walking, and her pale brown hair was in pigtails. Her eyes were alight with happiness; a joy reflected in every nuance of Dean's own face. Looking at them Alistair felt that he was looking into a mirror showing his own feelings for Niamh.

After greeting them, he couldn't help asking "Are you up to this Helena?"

Helena glanced at Dean and then turned back to Alistair. "Oh yes. I have had quite a lot of practice… The Templars are always getting themselves injured. Sometimes I've wondered whether they were doing it on purpose…"

* * *

Volkur had asked to be present at the healing, he was currently finishing a record of their expedition for the Shaperate and since he was the one who had extracted the arrow Alistair thought it was appropriate.

It was rather embarrassing actually, when they asked him to lie down so they could examine the wound on his thigh, but both Helena, who was barely a head taller than the dwarf was, and Volkur were so matter of fact about things that he began to feel his presence was almost incidental.

Volkur explained very precisely how he had extracted the arrow and with help of some notes gave accurate details of the treatments he had applied. Helena visually inspected the wound, examined the arrow, shaking her head upon seeing the barbs, and asked Volkur a few very to the point questions which he answered crisp and concisely. They were clearly enjoying sharing this knowledge and it was amusing to see two young people discussing things so earnestly.

"Well, Volkur, given the circumstances, it seems to me that you did the absolutely best possible with the means that you had available…" Volkur blushed.

"Thank you, ma'am." He mumbled.

"Now." She said. Both Alistair and Volkur watched fascinated as she grasped her staff, put one hand on her chest, closed her eyes and took a few deep breathes before launching the healing spell with a small flash of light and a brief, inarticulate, exclamation.

Alistair recalled how Wynne and Neriya were able to cast all but the most demanding spells with no particular physical effort. He guessed that that kind of ease was something that came with time.

They re-examined the wound again as did Alistair, insofar as he could. It seemed much improved.

"Your Majesty," Said Helena gravely, "No drinking for a few days…"

Alistair laughed, even Volkur looked somewhat put out, "Alcohol thins the blood. I would not recommend it." She lowered her eyebrows giving a strangely adult expression to her still childish features. "Just a week, surely you can do that."

"As you say." Said Alistair meekly.

* * *

Two days later and they were preparing to leave. Helena would stay in Orzammar with her father for the rest of the winter and travel to Denerim in the early spring. "Suppose Gregoir asks for her back?" Dean had objected.

Oswyn glanced at Alistair before replying, "We've discussed that, we don't think it's likely, she's young, she's a healer and the King has requested her service personally and will take responsibility for her… Other monarchs have healers at their disposal, it is nothing strange. It would be foolish to kick up a fuss over that… And Gregoir is no fool."

It had snowed lightly overnight and it was crisp under their boots. "I don't know why I'm so attached to that ruddy place," said Alistair turning one last time towards the gates of Orzammar that were quickly disappearing from view. "Maybe because it's a world apart… A world within our world or rather below it. The _dwarva_ are a race like no other… Or perhaps it's something else…" He suppressed a slight shudder.

"Perhaps it's because of the bronto…" Observed Oswyn.

"Oh, the other wardens told you about that did they? Scum…"

"You paid for its upkeep apparently, they were most impressed. There were some really strange jokes going around…" Oswyn frowned, "But it was obviously _dwarven_ humour and I didn't really understand it…"


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

Dragon 9:35

Verimensis/Wintermarch Denerim [Present]

"I cancelled the First Day party…" Said Anora, "Postponed it until your return…"

"That's… Was that necessary?"

"Strictly speaking no, but it would not be a real party without you there… At least many people would not think it was… In any event there are a few winter illnesses going around at the moment and it might not have been the best idea to bring lots of people together in one place." She wondered if he was looking a little older, perhaps there were a few additional wrinkles around his eyes? He was tired obviously. Poor, Alistair, he always seemed tired lately but then she took that to be a sign that he was doing what he should do.

She reached for her teacup and took a sip of the mint tea. He did the same, she noticed, she had not seen him drink mint tea before.

"Thanks for writing, in any event…"

"No," he said, shaking his head and putting his teacup down, "I should have done it before…"

"I am almost getting used to you disappearing without warning, but to go wardening and then to get injured…"

"Well I didn't do the injured bit on purpose, you know. The other thing, yes, of course, just couldn't resist. Oswyn advised me against it, by the way. I ignored him…"

"Heedless Alistair…"

"It's the way I am, Anora. I am not going to change." About a year ago, he might have said that aggressively, now he seemed to be just stating a fact of life.

"So I had gathered. Well, moving on… The arbiter decided that Bann Ceorlic should be executed. The evidence was overwhelming, he said. The sentence hasn't yet been carried out. He, I mean the Bann, has sent you this letter." She slid it over the table to him.

Heaving a sigh, he picked it up, "This is not going to be good news, I bet." He fiddled with the seal. Anora passed him her letter opener and he slit it neatly open. "Begs my mercy… private execution… Would like Your Majesty to be present… Fuck."

"Me too?"

"No just me."

"Alistair…"

"Yes?"

"You are not going to—"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're foolish even to entertain the notion. They, the family, are just going to use it to vex you and to slight both of us. It's poisonous. Stay away I say."

He sighed again and set the letter to one side. "What else?"

"Mother Gertrude passed… She asked you be given some of her ashes… I didn't know you knew her…" She held out the little leather pouch he extended his palm and she placed it in it.

"We talked from time to time." She noticed he had closed his fist protectively over the pouch.

"You never cease to amaze me Alistair…"

"Ha… I do it on purpose you know."

"Well, we have a new palace chaplain now, a…" Anora looked at a note. "Mother Boann… She seems… Interesting… Speaking of the Chantry…"

"Yes?"

"The Grand Cleric wrote to say she is feeling somewhat indisposed… I wonder if she has one of those winter illnesses? Anyway, she has postponed her meeting with us until the coming month…"

"Anora, is there no single piece of _good_ news?"

"Alistair, I thought the judgment passed on Bann Ceorlic would be… Why we didn't even have to pull strings…"

"Pull strings? That was not my intention…" He paused, "Well, I really think that highlights the difference between us… Sorry."

"I was just being practical… No, I know we're different…" She said nodding; she seemed to be thinking intently. "Ah… Eoin returned…"

"Eoin?"

"He's brought you ten horses from the Free Marches and Nevarra…"

* * *

"So how have you been?"

"Well," Lawler replied, "Very well…" It was around midday and they were walking towards the alienage.

"And your family?"

"Oh the boys, you know, they're just boys… Jo, Puy's teaching her to read, Fereldan, says she's clever that he'll get her reading Trevinter in a few years time… He says that about me too, but I think he's joking… He looked after them well while I was away… Takes a bit of doing that. Bregeth, I visited her and your girl every day… I think she's getting a bit lonely. She used to scold me and then feed me and then ask after Puy and then we would chat."

As they entered the square in front of the alienage gate, which was now permanently open, Lawler's pace suddenly slowed.

"What is it?" Asked Alistair.

"You know, for the last week or so, I've been getting the impression that I'm being watched here..."

Alistair knew better than to stop or look conspicuously around although he very much wanted to. "Really?" He murmured. He did notice that each time he came here there seemed to be more elves around mixing with the humans, which he felt, was a good thing.

"Yes, really and Bregeth says the same..." Lawler hesitated, "I was so worried that one night I came out here late, same feeling like the hairs on the back of your neck are bristling, but I couldn't see anyone... Anyway... She can scold you too, now, that should please her. So what's that?" He gestured towards the package, "Well, I guess it's a sword, stupid question, but why is it wrapped up like that?"

"You'll see…"

However, the suede-wrapped sword was set aside quickly so Alistair could embrace Niamh. She had grown an awful lot; she was almost up to his knee. Her hair was two shades paler than his was and down to her shoulders, it had something sticky in it ("half her breakfast" murmured Bregeth), and her eyes were dark like Neriya's. She had a pert little mouth. She was wearing a plain little brown smock down to her knees and little brown felt booties. She was even more delightful that he remembered and distinctly heavier. He covered her face with so many kisses that she almost started crying.

Once both he and Niamh had calmed down somewhat Bregeth said, "Let me show you something." She picked up a little red leather ball with a bell attached to it and held it out to Niamh who immediately tried to reach out and grab it while gurgling with enthusiasm.

"Now set her down Alistair, on her feet that's it…" Bregeth rolled the ball by the child across the tiled parlour floor. Niamh reacted immediately her tiny arms flailing in front of her "Let her go Alistair…"

And go she did taking a few wavering steps on uncertain legs but with a cheerful determination. "She walks…" said Alistair, "She can walk…"

"Yes, she can, she can…" chuckled Bregeth. "And… ooops! Occasionally she falls" Niamh fell onto her hands looked stunned for a moment and then began crawling energetically, "but you see, she really is after that ball…" The child caught up with it and then seizing it with both hands pulled herself to her little feet again and actually ran a few steps towards Bregeth, saying "Ma-ma, ma-ma…"

"Now the sword…" And for a moment Alistair thought Bregeth was referring to his but she brought out a very small crudely carved wooden one. "She likes this very much" said Bregeth and as if on cue, Niamh started waving it in the air gripped in a tiny fist.

Alistair laughed, "Well she's certainly going to strike terror into the hearts of any Darkspawn horde like that…"

Bregeth rolled the ball again and the toddler pursued it wielding the toy sword. The ball came to a stop at Lawler's feet and as they watched, Niamh caught up with it and began batting at it with the tiny weapon. The ball goaded by the toddler's blade moved away slightly but Niamh continued to hit Lawler's feet with her wooden blade… "Ow," said Lawler, "Ow and ow…" but the child did not stop hitting his boots.

Eventually he picked her up and holding her squirming under the arms still brandishing the sword in her fist handed her to Alistair who looked at her admiringly and then with an exclamation of "Princess…" pulled the puzzled toddler to his chest. Alistair finally pried the sword from the diminutive fingers and handed it back to Bregeth.

"Do you think it is a good idea to give a child a sword? A girl child…" He said softly holding Niamh against his neck.

"You child is she safe do you think?" Asked Bregeth. Alistair's lips tightened. "Will she be safe all her life? Are there no dangers in Ferelden?"

Alistair sighed, "I wish things were otherwise…"

"But they are not and we have to deal with them as they are… and so will Niamh." She paused, "You should be grateful to your Maker that he has given you a healthy child…" She faltered, "A child with the means and the spirit to defend herself… I would have…"

"Please don't say that…" He handed Niamh back to her. "You are right and you are doing an excellent job looking after Niamh and bringing her up… It is not for me to criticise your choices especially when I am somewhere else pleasing myself… Speaking of which…" He gestured towards the suede-wrapped package he had left on the table.

Watched by Bregeth and Lawler he unrolled it slowly. Bregeth gasped when she saw it. "Anything you recognise?" Alistair asked her. He had spent more than an hour the day before polishing it carefully attempting to ignore its periodic glinting.

She sucked in air between her teeth, "I know it to be ours."

"Ours." Alistair grinned at the acknowledgement.

"The shape…" she said, "the feel…"

"You can feel it?"

"Oh yes, strong but light…"

"So…" He touched the guard almost imperceptibly and it gleamed. Lawler swore under his breath in surprise.

Bregeth smiled broadly. "It has been some… time, since I saw a sword such as this." She remarked. "How did it come to you?"

Alistair narrated briefly the events leading up to it coming into his possession.

Once he had finished Bregeth said "Yes the dwarf was compelled to hand it to you because you are, at least in part, of the _Elvehnen_," Then she asked, "Can I?"

Alistair nodded. She touched it briefly and it glinted blue. Then she took Niamh's small hand and placed it on the hilt, it shone a peaceful green hue.

"You have found a sword worthy of your child." She said gravely. "I wish I could say that in Elven to you so you could hear and apprehend it as it should be said. Putting it into Fereldan it is but a poor rendering of the phrase. This sword responds to the _Elvehnen_ wielder and then it bonds to him or her."

"How does it bond?" Asked Alistair.

"How does any sword bond?"

"First blood." Said Lawler.

Bregeth nodded. "Yes, it is so. First blood."

"Are you saying I should set it aside for her?"

"Yes, I am."

* * *

"You keep well I see…"

Lady Cousland shrugged off her cape into Alistair's hands. She saw Alistair's eyebrows rise upon seeing that she was wearing, a little suit over a chemise formed of a plain woollen surcoat and breeches almost identical to his own. Except that hers was dark blue to his grey and the first three buttons of her chemise were undone so he caught a brief glimpse of her cleavage. She looked up at him smiling. She had pinned her hair up again.

"You look like a boy…" He remarked.

"Do you like boys Alistair?" She said rolling her eyes at him.

He narrowed his. "Only when I know they're really girls…"

Meanwhile Lawler was helping Lady Cousland's companion out of her cape. "Lawler," He said gruffly.

"Richelle" said the redhead, her hair was shorter and oranger than Lady Cousland's, there was some resemblance in the shape of their faces that showed they were distant cousins.

"Well, Richelle" Lawler said quietly if we just let those two do most of the talking and drinking I think we are going to have some fun tonight…"

Richelle tittered lightly.

"How was Orzammar?" Asked Lady Cousland taking a seat on one of the benches at the long table.

"Fairly diverting…" Replied Alistair sitting opposite her.

"Did you have any adventures?"

"A few…"

"Do tell…"

"Can't. It's sort of confidential…"

"You are just being a spoilsport, Alistair."

"Am not…"

"You so are…"

"Anyway, you do know I'm going to win tonight, don't you?"

Lady Cousland's eyes glinted. "So cocky. Wholly misplaced."

At that moment, the door to the private room opened and the innkeeper himself in his cleanest apron came through holding a tray followed by a serving girl. Wordlessly he went over to the table and began setting down twenty little clay drinking cups in a row between Alistair and Lady Cousland. She had folded her hands together under her chin and was staring at Alistair who was pretending to ignore her.

Once he had done that taking using the bottle he has brought in on the tray he filled up every two cups and then, taking a bottle held by the serving girl he filled the remainder. With a polite nod in Alistair and Lady Cousland's direction, he left.

Alistair yawned and stretched. "Keeping you up are we?" Said Lady Cousland.

"Oh no, I'm very used to this, just readying myself you know… Well, who goes first?"

"Shall I toss a coin?" Asked Lawler.

"Alistair." Said Alistair. Lady Cousland shrugged.

"Alistair." Said Lawler having tossed.

"I'll go first then." He said and picked up a cup. "So this is your stuff is it?" He asked Lady Cousland who nodded in response. "What is it?" He asked sniffing it delicately.

"Green apple schnapps."

He took a sip and screwed up his face, "Maker that is foul…"

"Well you are hardly meant to sip it like a girly…" Said Lady Cousland grasping her cup and tipping it back. Once she had emptied it, she banged it on the table and placed it in front of her.

"Trust you to choose something so disgusting…" He said scowling and then drunk his down in turn putting the cup in front of him.

"It's Richelle's and my favourite drink." She said.

"Does neither of you any favours… So what have you told Fergus about tonight then, late night knitting perhaps?"

"Sleeping over with a friend. A cousin and a friend." Said Lady Cousland glancing at Richelle.

"What did _you_ choose?" She said picking up her next cup already.

"Malt grain spirit, the Dalish drink something similar at funerals."

She gulped it down. "No wonder"

"So what _was_ Cailan like in bed?" Asked Alistair drinking half of his.

"Good enough. A touch too pleased with himself…" She said remembering how one morning some five years ago, he had stalked into her bedroom completely naked wearing only an erection and a self-satisfied smile. For some reason he had reminded her of a large slightly egotistical cat. She had flirted with him relentlessly the evening before and he had promised her a 'visit'. He had pulled off her covers wrapped himself around her almost purring and then taken her quite functionally. After stretching, he stalked off again without so much as a word. At breakfast with her parents shortly afterwards he had been perfectly congenial…

Alistair woke her from her reverie by banging his second empty cup down on the table in front of him. If she was reading him rightly, the slight quirk of his lips meant that he was pleased at her lukewarm appraisal of his half brother's bedroom skills.

"Are you familiar with a game called 'I have never'?" She asked.

"Yep."

"Want to play?"

"You have to tell the truth." His fingers drummed on the table.

"I have no problem with that." She asserted.

"Hmmm…" Said Alistair, "But I thought our contest here was simply about who can drink most and remain upright…"

"We could combine the two…"

"Very well."

"Shall I start?" And before he could reply, she said quickly, "I have never… made love to an elf…"

"Oh, such an easy score… I knew I would regret this." He picked up his third cup and downed it. "Well, there's only one response… I have never… made love to a man."

"Cheapo."

"If I were really cheapo I'd make you drink one per man you have made love to…"

At the head of the table, Lawler bent over to Richelle and jokingly put his hands over her ears. "Now they're really getting down to it…" he whispered.

"I have never… made love to anybody whose name I didn't know."

Alistair sighed and downed some malt for his fourth. "I have never fallen asleep whilst making love." He retorted.

"Pshaw… Some men… can be so boring… I'm happy to take this one." Said Lady Cousland drinking. She nibbled the edge of the cup. "I have never…" she pondered this for a good while looking into the distance. "… Had a pee while drinking alcohol at the same time."

"Low." Said Alistair, "and physically you probably couldn't anyway…" Sighing he took another shot of apple schnapps and pulled a face. "I have never lied to my sibling..."

"That's because you never really knew him isn't it?"

"Your point?"

"Bah... You know what I mean." She smirked at him, "I have never..." she said carefully "... played with myself whilst sharing a room with others..."

He gave her a stony look and downed a cup of malt, "I'm sorry but, you're forcing my hand here… I'm going to have to…" Alistair leaned forward and gestured for Lady Cousland to do the same, "I have never…" The rest was a whisper.

"You bastard… Totally grosss…" Lady Cousland slurred but she seized a cup and downed it.

Alistair leant back smiling but his face was red and not only through the flush of alcohol.

"Oh." Said Lady Cousland putting a hand on her chest, "Oh Maker, oh… I…" she turned as if to get up from her bench and collapsed on her knees.

Alistair downed another cup of green apple and said: "Seven. I win." and then went to help her.

* * *

After sharing a carafe of fresh water and holding a damp cloth to Lady Cousland's forehead for about twenty minutes they set off for home. Since she was still a little befuddled Alistair half-dragged, half-carried her a fair way.

"Cold night air will do you good." He reassured her.

"If you say so…" and she hiccoughed taking a hand to her mouth.

"It's your natural air of refinement that has so endeared you to me …" Alistair commented.

"Piss orf…" She gasped and hiccoughed again.

They had gone about half a mile when she suddenly started clawing at his chest.

"Oh Maker, oh…"

"Alleyway." Announced Alistair and steered her down the nearest one.

They were about ten steps into it when she doubled up and vomited.

"Good, that's very good… You'll feel better soon…" He said patting her on the back as she retched.

"Urghhhh…" she said struggling for balance. "I am… so bloody sorry."

"Oh Lawler has done this for me plenty of times." Answered Alistair airily, "And anyway you missed my new leather boots…"

"Gahhhhhhgrh…" She said. And then shortly afterwards. "Wha… what were… you saying just then."

"Oh, nothing." Said Alistair handing her a handkerchief so she could wipe her mouth looking down and then back up again jiggling his feet. "Nice night. Very clear." He remarked. "Let's go over here. I like alleyways…"

"Why… " Asked Lady Cousland who some moments afterwards found herself leaning her head against his chest while Alistair almost absent-mindedly stroked her hair.

"Well because at night they can be full of life and mystery…"

"Really, so you mean you've had sex a few times in an alley…"

"You can be so crude sometimes, it must be a noble thing..." Said Alistair. "Anyway…" He put his hand under his cape and drew out a flask. "Here," He said, popping the stopper. "Take a swig. It will cleanse your palate."

She pulled herself upright and did that.

"Hey, hey…" He said, "Not so much, that stuff's expensive…"

"It's also yummy" she remarked, feeling much revived. The drink burnt her mouth and throat in the most pleasing way, "what is it?"

"Antivan brandy" Alistair replied and took a swallow in turn. "Now…" He said putting the flask away and looking at her. Then resting his hands lightly onto her shoulders, he walked her back into the wall. She sighed and looked up at him. He tilted his face smiled and very gently put his lips against hers. They felt a little cracked and dry, then he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her against the wall at the same time as he put his tongue in her mouth.

She opened her eyes briefly, what she could see of his face was rapt with concentration as he kissed her and his long blond eyelashes were fluttering. She could feel his hardness against her tummy even through their winter clothes. She closed her eyes again put her arms around his waist and pulled him even tighter against her, he made a small sound of pleasure at her acquiescence, and she began to respond to the kiss in kind allowing her tongue to toy with his.

Eventually he pulled away from her. His eyes were brimming with need: "Come home with me," he said "and we can get the first time over with tonight, if you feel well enough. Then perhaps tomorrow we can discuss where we go from there."

She put a gloved hand on his cheek. "I can't."

"Why not?" He said fondling her hand, "Why not? It's what you wanted isn't it? I'm giving in to you, we won't even have to duel... I was going to win that, anyway…"

"I… it's my time of the month."

He looked at her for a moment and shook his head. "No it isn't," He said.

"How do you…"

"It's not." He said flatly. "Just tell me why."

"I… need more time, really, I…"

"I don't understand…" He muttered, "I really don't understand."

"I don't mean to hurt you," She said. "I promise… in a few weeks time I'll come to you and we'll…"

"Oh I don't know why I bother." He said sharply. "Let's look at you." He checked her over methodically and brushed down her cape. "You look fine." He concluded then leading her by the hand walked her briskly out of the alley.

* * *

Most of the rest of the walk took place in a rather stolid silence. When they came to Richelle's abode in one of the well-to-do areas of Denerim, not far from the palace Alistair bade Lady Cousland a rather perfunctory farewell. She on the other hand attempted to put some feeling into her words and once again, but this time taking off her glove, placed her hand on his cheek. He took her hand and kissed the palm but when he marched away with Lawler, he was rather huffy.

"She was sick. She messed up my boots. I kissed her. She kissed me but turned me down... She promised... I don't know what she promised... Women. I just don't bloody understand them. I really don't."

_Author's note: To all my readers wherever you are, thanks so much for bearing with me and reading this far. Hope you had a happy Christmas... Roll on 2011 and DA2!_


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

Dragon 9:35

Verimensis/Wintermarch Denerim [Present]

For the third time in the previous hour, Alistair swore darkly. It was barely twenty minutes before dawn and the second night he had been engaged in this pursuit. He had never imagined that prying one of the terracotta tiles up in the chapel in Denerim palace would be so tiresome and difficult. He had thought that it would be a simple matter of loosening the mortar surrounding the tile with a thin knife and then raising it up from the floor. However, the mortar would not yield so easily, in fact, it seemed more like compact stone and scraping it away was taking him hours rather than the minutes he had assumed.

Perhaps he should have made some arrangements for this; after all, he was supposed to be bloody King. Employed a group of builders, say, and dug up part of the floor under some flimsy pretext or other, but to do that, he felt, would be 'cheating' and the undertaking he had given mother Gertrude had been personal. He had asked her to actually give him something to do in preference to praying which he found tedious and she had. Any reasonable amount of prayers would have been finished by this time, he reflected ruefully.

That was the problem with beliefs sometimes, he thought, what you judged to be simple was often complex, what you thought was easy was often fraught with difficulty. Sweating even in the chapel's cold, he sat back on his knees, which were hurting and recalled the gauntlet leading to Andraste's holy ashes and the challenges the companions had had to overcome there. Even Leli's temper had frayed somewhat during that travail and she had not rebuked him, as she would usually have done when he made the quip about Andraste favouring 'clevers'. Well, Andraste was certainly getting her own back now.

_Onwards Alistair, you survived Orzammar twice you can certainly pull up a sodding tile._

He started scraping for about another ten minutes lost in thought. He had just imagined that he was making some headway on one of the sides when he noticed two cheap scuffed little leather shoes standing directly in front of him. He raised his eyes and met those of a dark-haired Elven child looking down at him curiously.

"Mah, where are you?" Called a voice from the direction of the altar.

"I'm here Mother... There is a strange man and he is digging up the floor." The child said in a clear voice.

Alistair cursed again.

"Such language and in the Maker's abode..." Said the female. "Take me to him."

The child sighed and took a few steps backwards returning with a fluffy dark-haired Revered Mother with her hand on his shoulder. Alistair stood up slowly and put the knife in his belt. She would be in her early thirties, he thought.

"You should be ashamed." Said the Revered Mother, "What are you? A thief or something? There is no gold here; this is the Maker's sanctuary. If is gold you are after the King lives three storeys up..."

Despite these bold words, which were said with some resolve, Alistair noticed that the hand on the child's shoulder was trembling. He had briefly entertained the thought of running away but this realization coupled with the one that she was blind put paid to that impulse.

"Maker be with you, Mother Boann."

"So you presume to know me, but do I know you?"

For some reason before answering, Alistair bent forward and ruffled the child's too tidy hair, "Not yet. We haven't been introduced. I'm Alistair."

There was a long pause then mother Boann said, "Tell me Mahon, does he look like the Alistair on the coins?"

The child cocked his head and perused Alistair critically. "Perhaps..." He said sounding somewhat unconvinced.

"That is a lot of trust to put in a child," said Alistair.

"Given my situation I find I have to deposit a lot of trust in many things every day. This child is the least of it." She crossed her arms over her breast. "Now explain yourself."

* * *

Alistair dodged the frontal sweep of Dummond's wooden two-hander. "I am grateful..." He gasped, "For your assistance..."

"Think nothing of it," Said the Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden, "It was clearly an issue that needed to be dealt with..." He parried Alistair's counterattack, "So..."

"So..." Alistair tried to turn quickly and go in low but Dummond had already stepped back leaving him to thrust at empty space. "Ah... Enough..." He exclaimed.

Dummond as was his habit bowed gracefully.

While they both changed out of the padded armour, Alistair once he had recovered his breath said, "Yes, Fiona was my mother."

"So you are a Grey Warden the child of a Grey Warden..."

"Do you think that is unprecedented?"

"I'm not sure..." Dummond's already crinkled forehead crinkled even more. "I haven't heard of it previously but our order has been around for a long time...You should be proud, your mother was a legend in her time in Orlais. A treasure."

Alistair smiled. "And an elf..." He added.

"You understand my hesitance..." Said Dummond placing his wooden sword on the rack and waving his hands expressively, I simply had to be sure..."

"Yes, I do. I also understand Duncan and Neriya's position. It cannot have been comfortable for any of you. Can I ask you...? What's it like?"

"Like?"

"Being... As you are a qunari..."

"I am _not_ a qunari... I am half-human... But unlike human elf mongrels..." He said eyeing Alistair, "Our appearance reflects our ancestry... To answer your question, tough, but life was tough in any event for the _miserables_ in Val Royeaux and at least my build gave me some advantages..."

"And how did your mother..."

Dummond laughed, "If I had a penny for every time I've been asked that! How did yours?"

Alistair answered very earnestly, "It was in the Deep Roads, of all places, my father... Well, apparently they took a fancy to each other..."

"Nice story. My mother says much the same, she loved my father, he loved her, and she assures me. Looked after her, was delighted when she conceived me. Set her up, said he had to return temporarily to the _Beresaad_, and was never heard of again... She is convinced that something horrible happened to him and he died..."

"What about you?"

"What about me? How can I even judge someone I never met?" Dummond shook his head, "Of course, I am a man and you have your suspicions... We all know, if we are honest, that many women think us better than we are..." Alistair nodded in agreement. "But at the end of the day, that is neither here nor there. I have never lost any sleep over it. Except if someone called me a bastard to my face or my mother a whore..." There a brief spark in Dummond's eyes. "Well that was simple enough to resolve. They did not tend to do it again."

Alistair grinned "Oh I am the same..."

"Of course you are. How it is our fault what our parents did or didn't do? How can other people even presume to judge our mothers? How can we? What the hell do we know?" Dummond shook his head and a curly dark lock of hair fell loose into his eyes, he shoved it back into place.

"I have to ask you..."

"Ask, my friend."

"My parentage..."

"Is your secret, not mine. My lips are sealed. I do not think many Fereldans would credit such a thing..."

"I am not so sure... I am convinced Anora has always known but I did not wish to question her directly. Cailan probably did. I don't think those that actually brought me up even suspected. But perhaps this was one of the reasons my father never openly recognised me and he might have put them under considerable pressure to inculcate in me as they did that I had no place whatsoever in the succession and no right to the throne. Not that I care, I truly don't, but it fits."

"_Eh bien_, you said there was something else..."

"Let's discuss it in your office..."

Perched on the lintel of a window Alistair gazed at the Denerim street two storeys below while Dummond leaned against his bureau, he hardly ever used the chair behind it. "I have recently come from Orzammar..."

"So I heard..."

"Of course you did. Well that makes things easier... I promised Harrow... King Harrowmont I mean, to recruit more wardens in Ferelden so as to assist them..."

"How are things in Orzammar?"

"Difficult I would say... My expedition found a brood mother, so did one of the others. We are talking barely fifty miles from the centre of Orzammar. Two brood mothers."

Dummond shook his head, "Not good."

"So more wardens are needed." Alistair turned towards him.

"But you do not wish to trust me to recruit them... And you do not want them to come from Orlais..."

"That's not quite..." Alistair hesitated, "No murderers..."

"Duncan was a murderer..." Objected Dummond quietly.

Alistair sagged, "I know."

"I would suggest there are murderers and murderers?"

"Self-defence, drunk, accidental, young... They must be repentant and seeking redemption. But no torturers, thugs, rapists, child abusers... I know full well you have the right of conscription, but I would request that you exercise it within certain constraints."

"The Grey Wardens have never been a legion of benign spirits, you know..."

"I volunteered." Said Alistair sharply.

"As did I."

"Well then... I was thinking that having standards at least in Ferelden might ultimately be to the Order's advantage... Life is hard in my country at the moment there might be a considerable amount of volunteers, volunteers who would not otherwise come forward were we to be seen recruiting riff-raff..."

"I have nothing against volunteers but there have to be standards for ability."

"And that is good, challenge them, reject them if they are not up to speed. I agree it is a waste of time sending unprepared people against the Darkspawn... It occurs to me we could hold such tests in public, create an interest..."

"A good idea." Acknowledged Dummond.

"Then subject to the exceptions I have quoted, you are free. I know you well by now and I trust your judgment. Should you have doubts about any particular case, run the facts by me and I will decide. You can recruit up to fifty wardens this year. By that I mean fifty who pass the joining and please invite me to the first one."

* * *

He would have to speak to Mother Boann again soon he felt as he shuffled fidgeting from one foot to the other. Lawler looked at him frowning but said nothing; apparently, _he_ had no problems standing stock still for minutes on end. Anora had suggested that Alistair should remain seated throughout the entire sordid business but that seemed to him to be wholly disrespectful and he had rejected it out of hand.

The family were gathered at the opposite side of the room. He had nodded to them discreetly when they first came in. He was uncomfortably aware of them staring at him every now and then with understandable hostility and forced himself not to look in their direction again despite being tempted to do so. He did not want to be accused of gloating. As Alistair stood determinedly fixing his gaze on an empty middle distance, he thought that this was all proving to be every bit as difficult as he had anticipated.

A few minutes later, the double doors to the chamber were pushed open and, with the Commander of Fort Drakon at the head, Bann Ceorlic was led in surrounded by a contingent of six guards, trailed by a Revered Mother. The Bann was wearing a red cape. Alistair allowed himself a moment to admire the man's flair.

The masked Orleisian executioner immediately stood to attention and gripped his two-handed sword a little tighter.

Reaching the allocated spot the Bann paused a moment, removed his cloak with a flourish and handed it to a waiting guard, revealing dark clothing below. He clutched his copy of the Chant even closer to his chest and smoothly knelt.

The Commander of Fort Drakon after casting a brief glance at the Bann marched in Alistair's direction. Alistair's heart fell into his boots. Nevertheless, he leant forward to listen to what the Commander had to say.

"He wishes to speak to Your Majesty."

Pulling himself even more upright Alistair stiffly followed the Commander across the floor. Once he had reached the condemned man, Alistair again nodded his head.

The Bann took his time, looking Alistair up and down. "Why," He said, "My prince, I see you have decided to adopt the two Theirin mabaris after all..." The bravado of the Bann's words was belied by his extreme pallor.

"Yes." Alistair replied. Unwillingly, his right hand gravitated towards the embroidered red symbols that decorated the right side of his black velvet surcoat; he suppressed the gesture as soon as he became aware of it.

"I will not waste any breath proclaiming my innocence." Alistair remained silent. The Bann had tidied his formerly straggly beard and unkept hair, it made him look more dignified and collected Alistair also thought he detected a subtle hint of perfume.

The Bann glanced towards his family. Alistair may have misread that look but it seemed to be full of antipathy.

The Bann turned his reddened eyes back focussing on him again: "They know, you know..."

Alistair remained impassive.

"About her..."

Alistair did not reply.

The Bann laughed an incongruent sound. "Your daughter..."

He hoped he had not hesitated overmuch. "What daughter?"

"Ah, my prince, how you love to make light of things, do you not even care for the flesh of your flesh?"

"Bann, do you have something of relevance to say to me or are you determined to persist in these undignified fantasies even on the brink of death?" Alistair was aware that his voice was carrying in the large vaulted chamber. Well, so be it.

"Pity I will not live a further day to see you shed bitter tears for your child..."

"Maker be with you, Bann, and may Andraste have mercy on your soul." Alistair turned on his heels. It took all the effort he could muster not to run back to his place.

Lawler seemed already to be on alert his eyes searching Alistair's face, _good_. _"Go,"_ Mouthed Alistair, _"Niamh, Bregeth, protect them..."_

Barely blinking in acknowledgement, Lawler swept out of the chamber. Alistair resumed his position crossed his arms and looked at the floor. There was a few minutes silence. Someone coughed, someone was praying in a low voice, the Revered Mother perhaps?

Eventually he looked up and caught the executioner's eye. The masked man stretched and pulled the massive sword up over his shoulder. The Bann tied a blindfold over his own eyes and braced himself. Alistair gave the agreed signal, touching his index finger to the Theirin shield on his surcoat.

The executioner swung the sword in the most graceful of arcs. It caught the Bann neatly on the back of the neck severing his head in one blow. The Bann's wife, it must have been her, howled, and for a fraction of time, everything seemed to be holding very still, then the Bann's body dipped and crimson droplets scattered in every direction. For the briefest of moments, Alistair closed his eyes.

When he opened them, again the remains of what had been a man slumped pathetically askew. There was a metallic tinge in the air and the sheets surrounding the Bann's body had darkened ominously.

The executioner stood rigid, looking slightly at a loss.

In a departure from tradition there was to be no production of the head, no spiking, and no triumphalist proclamations. The family were free to dispose of the Bann's body as they saw fit so long as any funeral was relatively modest and took place outside of Denerim. Alistair assumed as a matter of course that Anora's contacts would make very sure that that was the case.

Casting a final glance at the sorry scene, Alistair exited the death chamber with some haste.

_Happy 2011 to all my readers! _


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

Dragon 9:31

Parvulis/Kingsway

Orlais, The Nahashin Marshes

[Approx three years and three months ago]

The baby had been born.

It lay motionless under her, still attached to her, in a welter of muck, mud and her own blood.

Things had not gone well, perhaps it was her inexperience, or perhaps crossing the Frostbacks in the bitter winter had taken too much out of her. Since the beginning of her pregnancy, she had been unable to transform due to the danger of losing the baby, so she had been compelled to flee by foot.

Morrigan had clung to the baubles that Neriya had offered her not only because she liked shiny things, which she did, but because she thought she had seen their potential as an eminently portable means of paying her way when the time came for her to depart. What she had not anticipated was the after effects of the Blight. Gold and silver might have some value but you could not eat them, they would not keep you warm during a cold night or slake your thirst and so the trinkets' worth had decreased accordingly since she was going in the inverse direction to the hoard and meeting daily the devastation it had wrought on the survivors she encountered.

She soon noticed that her potions and meagre skills as a healer were a far more welcome currency. She came to regret bitterly having invested so much in powers of destruction and so little in healing. However, making potions and healing took time and time she did not have, Morrigan could not afford to tarry. It was only a few days after the soul had entered the baby that rumours reached her that the almost Templar had been crowned King and the Elven mage exalted as the hero of Ferelden.

Morrigan remembered using and humiliating Alistair in the bedchamber in Redcliffe. She recalled Neriya's vehement words to her at the gates of Denerim and she was afraid.

Alistair had a temper when pushed, and could bear grudges she knew; Loghain had learnt that to his cost. Neriya she was even more afraid of, however, because Neriya was protective. A protective mage, she was aware, was worse that a large cat defending her cubs and mages felt honour bound to fulfil any words of revenge they uttered because if they did not, the belief was that their channel to magic would eventually falter. It was in their nature; after all, most spells began with, ended with and were nothing but, words.

Altogether, however, she had done well enough traversing Ferelden, her presence and her local knowledge had served her quite effectively despite the depreciation of the baubles.

However, Orlais was a different matter, and, of course, by the time she had crossed the border, her pregnancy had progressed so as to become visible; she had been robbed several times, assaulted once and for the most part, ignored. Oh yes, she was a powerful witch but there are only so many people that even the most formidable spell caster can contain at one time. It was no help at all that she lacked more than a rudimentary knowledge of Orleisian.

In addition, she had gotten lost, lost on more occasions than she could count. She suspected she had forfeited considerable amounts of time just going in circles.

Therefore, she could not shape shift because of the child and, she dared not keep to the main thoroughfares, in either Ferelden or Orlais, for fear of the new sovereign's ire. Being able to do so would have saved her time and all but prevented her from straying. Morrigan had hoped to reach the shelter and succour of Val Royeaux and conceal herself in the ebb and flow of the crowds there but the baby had come before she had reached the gates of that city, some six weeks early, by her estimate, in the midst of these wretched, dank marshes.

Several days ago, her feet had begun to swell. At first, she wondered whether because it was of the intensive walking. She had never had to walk so far so quickly in her life. Then, her breasts had engorged even further and started leaking and she began to feel cramping in her pelvis. She was afraid the birth was imminent and allowed herself some time to rest, which she could ill afford. The cramps seemed to pass then.

Then the previous day Morrigan had felt a sticky flow down her legs and the cramps had started up again but this time they were much, much worse and hideously painful as if someone were hollowing out her insides with a knife or pulling out her entrails with a hook. She was unable to continue on her way and some instinct had moved her to go deeper into the marshes, eventually she had come across a little hut made of rushes where she had taken refuge, shivering with sudden cold and trembling with pain... Shortly afterwards she had started to howl like an animal and then felt the irresistible impulse to push...

* * *

For a moment she thought she was hallucinating, she had never seen her mother like this, so wholly lucid and composed.

"Morrigan, foolish girl." Her voice and tone, however, were unmistakable, Flemeth smiled as she ducked into the rush hut and then stood like a dark shadow settling against the feeble wall of the shelter. "You are such a disappointment to me."

Morrigan felt her looking at her but in her distress and humiliation could only whimper.

"How little you have learnt... A pregnant female not under the protection of a male is always vulnerable. Even the most dominant female when heavy with child becomes prey and easy prey at that." she sighed.

"I had you follow those Grey Wardens, coaxed you into their company... The future was writ large over both of them but you could not read it, you were blind to it, dulled by your petty likes and dislikes. You could have played him and charmed him. Had you done so, even if he had not accepted you as his beloved, you would not now be here having given birth to his child alone, in pain and on your knees."

"But still girl," Morrigan flinched she thought she saw something flash in the darkness, "Why should I complain about what benefits me?"

Flemeth bent down Morrigan felt a tug and moaned. She realised the cord attaching her to her newborn had been severed. Flemeth lifted the child by its feet. It was limp, stained, and naked. From behind it resembled nothing more than a featherless chicken.

"A boy..." Said Flemeth gazing at the child as if it were some kind of interesting mineral and scowled.

"Please..." Said Morrigan.

"Cry child..." Said Flemeth walloping the baby on the small of its back so it swung in her hand. She waited a few moments: "Cry..." and Flemeth thumped the child again. After several seconds the little body quivered and then contracted, the arms thrashed, the tiny fists clenched and suddenly a mournful wail filled the hut.

At the sound, Morrigan who had never really loved anyone but herself, felt a pang of primeval pity course through her for the creature that, until very recently, had been part of her. "Please mother, please..." fresh silent tears wended their way down her face.

Flemeth looked down at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time. Her thin lips tightened. She ducked out of the hut cradling the naked infant in her arms. "Such a disappointment, Morrigan, such a disappointment..."

* * *

Dragon 9:34 Parvulis/Kingsway Orlais, Val Firmin [Six months ago]

It had taken Neriya and Cullivan the best part of six months. They had worked backwards starting from Val Royeaux through the Nahashin Marshes, the Western Approach, the Heartlands and the Dales to the foot of the Frostbacks.

"Have you seen this woman, she has golden eyes, she was with child..."

Although the Grey Wardens, honouring Konrad's request, had acceded to assist them, it was not at all clear what level of help was on offer. For example, they had agreed to print and distribute an etching of Morrigan's picture to all the Grey Warden compounds in Orlais but since Neriya could not divulge the reason why they wished to find Morrigan, it was unlikely that the request would be given any urgency while there were Darkspawn to fight, and there were always Darkspawn to fight.

When they had finalised all their enquiries in the Dales Cullivan asked for two weeks alone. Neriya did not wish to pry, she imagined he wanted to visit his home tribe. Therefore, when a summons came from Quentin du Plessis, the Commander of the Grey in Orlais, who happened to be visiting Val Fermin, Neriya went to meet him alone.

Du Plessis was a bit of a legend, he had belonged to a minor noble family fallen on hard times. In his early adolescence, he had gained a reputation for being rash and reckless, respecting nothing. He and his _compains_ had specialised in ransacking Chantries by using subterfuge rather than brute force, impersonating lay brothers or Revered Mothers or a merchant attacked by bandits begging for one night's shelter... In this manner, a member of their party would infiltrate the target Chantry and then, usually under the cover of darkness, allow access to the rest of the band.

The spoils from such heists never lasted too long, du Plessis and his _compains_ enjoyed racy women, expensive alcohol and especially, gambling, all kinds of gambling, be it card, die, horses, fighting, drinking, or pissing contests.

Eventually they had fallen foul of a well-executed Templar trap but even then their luck for the most part held out and they all managed to escape save for one of their number, a young woman called Charmaine.

At that point the Divine made clear that Charmaine would be executed unless du Plessis handed himself over to the Chantry. Against the advice of the other _compains_, he did, but not before he had made an agreement with a friend of a friend, who happened to be a district commander, that the Grey Wardens would exercise their right of conscription in his favour. The Divine felt cheated but still exacted a price in blood by amputating the little finger on his left hand before turning him over to the Wardens.

All that, however, was a long time ago. In the meantime, he had gained a reputation for being a ruthlessly effective Warden Commander with connections both overt and esoteric throughout Thedas.

When Neriya went to meet him in the Grey Warden compound in Val Fermin she was shown into the presence of a small natty man with an easy smile and vivid eyes seated behind a desk covered in papers who appeared to be in his mid forties.

"Ah Neriya... Sit down. Don't mind Michelle, she has to sniff everyone."

Neriya took the armless wooden chair. A large gangly dog with bristly orange and white hair and a very black nose sidled up to Neriya and put her muzzle in her lap. Cautiously Neriya extended a hand and stroked her head.

"Neriya, Neriya, Neriya..." mumbled du Plessis, shuffling through the papers for a while. Suddenly he looked up, clasped his hands in front of him and said: "You and Alistair, Alistair Therin, I mean, were an item..."

"Yes." She replied slowly.

"What's he like?"

"He thinks I am dead..."

"That's not a ruse you are going to be able to sustain for much longer, _jeune femme..._" said du Plessis. Neriya's eyes must have shown her indignation. "Ah, ah, ah, that is not a threat... Just an observation from someone who has set up more than a few ruses in his time... I would advise you, _advise_, I insist, to find a way of resolving that situation sooner rather than later..."

"Please inform me why I am here."

"Your child..."

"Is with Alistair in Denerim."

"Who thinks you are dead."

"Yes."

Du Plessis sighed. "And this Morrigan you are searching for?"

"I am not sure why I have to repeat to you what is probably in those papers."

"I want your version." He said resting his cheek on a hand.

Neriya trotted out the account she had agreed with Konrad. "She is a powerful witch possibly a maleficar, she may have managed to incarcerate the soul of an Archdemon in the body of her child—"

"Why would you suspect that?"

"When we slew the Archdemon, and at that point we were the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden, one of us failed to die."

"How do you think she did it?"

"If I knew that..."

"But why do you suspect her then?"

Du Plessis' eyes still sparkled with benevolence but Neriya was beginning to see he was far from foolish. "Morrigan said... She made certain promises that if Alistair and I did certain things, she would obtain the demon soul for her child and we would not die when we slew the Archdemon..."

"And did either of you do those things?"

"No..."

"And so?"

"It occurs to me Riordan _may_ have..."

"And Riordan, is, or course, dead..."

"Yes. Killed in combat _before_ the Archdemon was slain."

"So we will never know..."

"Warden Commander..."

"Neriya..."

"I do not necessarily want to _destroy_ the child, merely establish that it is normal and if it appears to be, perhaps monitor it from time to time..."

Du Plessis clasped his hands behind his head. "Neriya, here's the thing... I am Commander of the Grey here in Orlais and you are a Grey Warden... A talented one, a treasure... and yet you have spent the last six months pursuing this chimera..."

"It is not—"

"Well at most, I cannot prove it _is_ a chimera but you cannot prove that it _isn't_..."

"So..."

"Let's do a deal..."

Neriya got the distinct impression that du Plessis had been doing such deals most of his life.

"You do some Grey Warden tasks, I allow you to continue to seek this woman... or rather her child."

"I..."

"Your first task will be to attend, as will I, three joining ceremonies to be held here next week. Surely that is not too hard?"

"No..."

"_Bon_. Did I tell you you remind me of a friend of mine, a very good friend of mine?"

"No..." Neriya hoped desperately that the interview was not going to get personal.

"Well then, sometime in the near future I would like you to consider enhancing your abilities as an arcane mage... You will have to train, in a circle mayhap, one less backward than Ferelden's," Neriya frowned, du Plessis ignored her, "perhaps here in Orlais or Antiva. I also hear good things about the Kirkwall circle, even Trevinter or Weisshaupt..." He paused, "Hopefully not Weisshaupt because, Maker, is it cold there..." Du Plessis shivered, "I spent several years in Weisshaupt myself."

_Well, it was Alistair or the Grey Wardens, love or duty, and I chose duty... _Neriya found she did not dislike du Plessis's proposal, she actually found it reasonable, however, some things had to be addressed.

"I am a Blight Queller, why do you speak to me like a novice..."

Du Plessis was silent for a moment and scratched Michelle, who had returned to him, behind the ears.

"Sometimes even heroes need to be reminded of their duties, Neriya, of their choices... I could of course give you some direct orders but that is not, generally, my preferred way of working. As for respecting you... You are a woman a mage and an elf and I cannot begin to express my admiration for your accomplishments, but were I to do so; I also think you would suspect me of attempting to butter you up... One of the reasons I want you to attend the joining is that I want you to be seen there, I want to show you off and I want some of the less accomplished wardens to get an eyeful of you." He looked up at her. "You do remind me an awful lot of my friend..."

* * *

The joining hall was a medium-sized room lined for the most part with simple white stone. The joining chalice was placed on a round altar formed of a single rock within in the centre of a circle formed by red stones, some ten metres in diameter.

Five rows of stone seating, "Occasionally, we have relatives and such come to see the joining. They put in a request to myself. Obviously we have to screen them very carefully; this is not for the faint-hearted." Explained du Plessis.

The chalice itself was of unadorned brushed steel. "It was smelted twenty years ago using steel from the sword of a local Grey Warden hero, Pierre Denisot." Du Plessis murmured to her.

They were both wearing plain grey woollen habits with the Warden's griffon emblazoned on the right breast and their warden pendants visible, although, as Warden Commander, du Plessis' griffon was double-headed. Du Plessis also wore a silverite and black onyx seal ring on his right index finger. Neriya had not realised until now that he was slightly shorter than she was.

Neriya laid her hand on the wall behind the altar tracing the many names carved there, below the Wardens' motto: _'In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.' _"The joining year?" She asked pointing.

"Yes, on this side are the names of the ones who survived the joining in this compound. Over there—" he pointed to another wall, "the names of those who perished, but they are all here together, seamlessly, round the altar." They were both speaking quietly.

"Many die in the joining…"

"They do, unfortunately. I have kept figures for some years now. Of course, it does fluctuate, but overall, some four in every ten do not make it… My understanding is that it is roughly the same throughout Thedas. A great shame."

"Where would my and Alistair's names be?"

"Yours was an improvised joining so your name and those of the other two—"

"Daveth and Ser Jory."

"Daveth and Ser Jory," repeated du Plessis, "...would be in Weisshaupt, where the names of all Grey Wardens are recorded... Alistair's, I hope, would be in the hall where he was joined as well as in Weisshaupt."

"I see."

A thin elderly mage entered the hall and handed several vials to du Plessis who thanked him. Du Plessis saw Neriya looking at the vials, "Yes, this is the joining potion… If you wish, I can make arrangements for you to learn how the potion is concocted; you would have to take a vow never to reveal the formula, however…"

"I would like that." Said Neriya. Du Plessis nodded.

"You are sure of your role?"

"Yes I am."

About five minutes later two other Grey Wardens dressed in the same habits came in whom Du Plessis introduced as Yves Breton and Ferri Louvain. Yves was a large bearded man, a fighter Neriya guessed, in contrast Ferri was far slighter, a rogue or an archer. They were given some ten minutes to exchange pleasantries until du Plessis gave an order and five figures wearing grey habits with cowls pulled up were ushered in to the hall.

The first one knelt before the altar pulling back his hood.

Du Plessis stepped forward holding the chalice in both hands. At a gesture from him, Neriya standing at his right, solemnly chanted the joining words, which echoed throughout the hall.

"Join us brothers and sisters.

Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.

Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.

And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.

And that one day we shall join you…"


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46**

Dragon 9:34

Parvulis/Kingsway

Orlais, Val Fermin

[Approx six months ago]

The first one, a human male with pockmarked cheeks and a stub nose, died.

Standing to drink from the chalice, a few seconds later he fell to his knees and then keeled over entirely with a thin, plaintive groan.

Perhaps Neriya should have done more to disguise her distress, she could not help bowing her head to hide her expression of grief, but she noticed out of the corner of her eye that even du Plessis pursed his lips and looked away. Yves and Ferri revealed what their role was by striding forward after a few respectful moments, lifting with some care the corpse of the poor unfortunate and placing it further back at their feet with its hands crossed over its chest and a cloth over its face.

When du Plessis gestured for the next candidate to walk towards the altar Neriya wondered just how frequently aspirants rebelled in the same way as Ser Jory had at Ostagar. She suspected it was not uncommon. For a moment, she speculated whether du Plessis had a dagger concealed somewhere in the folds of his habit… He was a prudent man, she reasoned, it would not be surprising. She knew Alistair carried one all the time and she had never seen Cullivan without his sword.

The next hopeful, also male and human, bravely came forward… Drank… and, after some minor convulsions, survived. Neriya and the other Wardens heaved a collective sigh of relief as Yves and Ferri guided him to a seat next to them.

The third candidate was tiny and approached the altar with light-footed steps. When her hood was pulled down, it revealed her to be a human female but every bit as petite as an elf. She had shiny reddish hair, pale beautifully smooth skin and a very pretty, pouty doll's face marred only by a clearly squashed, broken nose.

Still on her knees, she glanced at the corpse and then exchanged a look with her living comrade. As she, rose du Plessis proffered her the chalice and grasping it with both hands, she drank deeply, her slender throat moving.

Once du Plessis had withdrawn the chalice from her, for a moment she faltered, falling to her knees and propping herself up on her arms. Minutes passed slowly as she gasped and moaned but it was eventually clear that she would live to see the sun shine another day.

Du Plessis, smiling gently, helped her to her feet again and Ferri escorted her to sit next to the other newly accepted Grey Warden with whom she promptly held hands.

Of the remaining two human males, one lived and the other died.

Once the joining came to an end, Du Plessis leaving the chalice on the altar went to have a few words with the new recruits with Neriya at his side. He patted them on the back congratulated them and asked the two males where they were from. The young girl meanwhile looked shyly to one side.

When he had finished with them, he turned his attention to her. "Neriya, this _jeune femme_ is also from Ferelden… South Reach I believe." Neriya and the young woman exchanged formal nods.

"Now… _Hafren_, you know the conditions attached to your membership of the order. You are banned from ever returning to Ferelden and you have promised to develop some skill, healing perhaps? That will be of use to us. See that you do so. I will be sending you to Val Royeaux, let's find out what they can make of you there…"

"_Merci mon commandant._" Murmured the initiate in a pristine Orleisian accent.

Once the new members had left Neriya turned to du Plessis, "Why is she exiled from Ferelden?"

Du Plessis scrutinised Neriya's face in some detail then looked away quickly. She realised he had just discovered something about her but for the life of her she could not fathom what it might be. "Not my secret to share" he replied crisply.

* * *

The joining held the following day transpired much the same save that three died rather than two.

As for that held on the third day, it was noteworthy, until the fourth hopeful presented himself, only because the first three candidates survived.

As he removed his hood and stood, Neriya vaguely registered that this was the first Elven aspirant that she had seen in the three days and he was Dalish, as denoted by the tattoos on his face. She took another look, and her mouth went dry and her legs turned to jelly…

Cullivan was gazing at her as if she were the last thing he would ever see in Thedas. Neriya felt a wild surge of rage ripple through her. He seemed to pick up on her anger even at a few yards' distance and shook his head as if mildly reprimanding her before clasping the chalice and pulling it to his lips without tearing his eyes from her. Du Plessis not oblivious to the sudden tension in the air also glanced in Neriya's direction.

Unable to stand it, Neriya turned her back on both of them, her shoulders shaking with fury but powerless to block her ears to what was happening behind her. She did not look again until she heard footsteps and murmurs that seemed to indicate he had survived.

Sure enough, turning back she saw Ferri and Yves helping him towards the seats next to them. Suppressing her anger, she put on a game face for the last candidate who was the only unfortunate to pass unto the Fade that day.

* * *

Once du Plessis had conducted the formal welcomes to the new Grey Wardens, he dismissed three of them telling them that the best way to recover was to go and have a good drink and giving them the name of his favourite local tavern. Then he turned to Neriya and Cullivan both of whom looked pale and shaky for entirely different reasons and said. "Sort it out."

After a while of awkward silence and avoiding each other's eyes, Neriya ran her hand over her face and sighed. "Let's go to my quarters… Let me help you."

Cullivan smiled, "that was… Ghastly… I still feel wobbly …"

Neriya offered him her arm and he took it wordlessly. As he did she realised this was the first she was helping him rather than the other way around.

When they reached the very plain chamber she had been allocated on the second floor she went over to the window and pulled up the blind, then she guided him to the single bed and without protest, he lay down on it moaning gently. "Do you think alcohol really helps this?" He asked after a while.

"I wouldn't know…" Neriya said.

"Because if it did, even a little, I might abandon the good habit of a lifetime and…"

"You are such a bloody arsehole!" She suddenly snapped, "Why ever would you do such a thing…"

"I didn't know you would be there, _lethellen_, I…" He moaned clutching his stomach.

"As if _that_ would have made any difference!"

"Well it would have… I was hoping to surprise you…"

"Sur… me? Oh, by the Maker, oh…" And she started laughing as she had never laughed before holding her sides because she thought she might burst. Cullivan watched her very carefully with some sadness lurking in his eyes. Then she hiccoughed several times, bent over, and started crying big sobs racking her body from head to toe. She felt his hand run lightly over her hair.

"I really didn't mean to hurt you, Neriya, but it is just that you seemed so lonely, especially since… You know, the child."

After what seemed a long time Neriya lifted her face from her knees, "And you thought you would join me…" Her face was red and puffy, "Oh Maker! That sounds so much like a bad joke…" and she started weeping again.

"I could not think of any better way to do it. As a Grey Warden, you were taken irrevocably… I felt I had a choice to follow the same course as you or to leave you because sooner or later it would have separated us… Now we are on the same road."

"I never asked you to… I—"

"Of course you didn't and you never would. This is my choice. Just tell me I am not going to feel this sick for the rest of my life… Otherwise I might begin to regret it," He said smiling ruefully.

"It will pass… You know all the other things."

"Of course. You went through them all in great detail."

"I didn't realise you were taking notes."

"Neither did I, at first."

"One thing. Did du Plessis have any role in this?"

"No! Couldn't you see he was surprised that we even knew each other?"

"I wasn't standing that close to him… Once I had recognised you… I couldn't really take on board anything else…"

He reached out his hand. Gently, she took it, pulled it to her face and started crying again.

* * *

Dragon 9:35 Verimensis/Wintermarch Orlais, Val Royeaux [Present]

Some four months later Neriya and Cullivan found themselves waiting in the private meeting room of one of the up-market hôtels in central Val Royeaux. Outside it was winter and there was a cold wind blowing east from the Waking Sea but in here there was a little stove keeping them warm.

"Neriya… and…" Her voice was sheer ice much like the prevailing wind.

Morrigan looked much as she had been when Neriya had last seen her some five years ago. She was wearing what appeared to be a gold and maroon robe under a long black cape with a hood, which she did not remove as she sat down. Two little diamonds twinkled at her ear lobes. A solid-looking dark hued staff was on her back. She removed a pair of fine leather gloves impatiently plucking at the fingers and set them down on the table before her. Several rings sparkled on her hands.

"Cullivan." Neriya and Cullivan both wore wool Grey Warden habits, Cullivan's draped over his green and brown leathers.

"Cullivan… Ha." She looked him up and down and dismissed him with a quirk of her perfectly formed lips. Neriya felt Cullivan stir restlessly in his chair next to her. _I warned you what an utter bitch she_ _was_, she thought, but men never quite believed that did they? Except Alistair, he had loathed Morrigan virtually from the go get. "I am to co-operate with you, apparently. For up to one hour."

Neriya waited for her to settle somewhat, "Where is your child?"

"What child would you mean?"

"The child you conceived with Alistair and birthed just over three years ago?"

"Not here."

"I did not ask where the child was _not_ but _where it is…_ Answering questions that have not been posed instead of those that have can hardly be construed as co-operation…" Neriya picked up the grey-sealed envelope that lay conspicuously on the table in front of her and waved it under Morrigan's nose. It contained a conscription order for her.

"_You owe me, Neriya,"_ Du Plessis had said about a month ago, when he informed her he had arranged this meeting, _"You and Alistair owe me big for this, I put my balls on the line for you both here…"_ It had been the first time she had heard him use an expletive in her presence.

"I do not know." Replied Morrigan.

"But the child lived? It survived the birth?"

"It did."

"Male or female?"

"Male."

"Did it appear normal?"

"What? In that, it had two arms, two legs and one head? Yes it appeared normal."

"Did you give it a name?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Unusually, Morrigan appeared somewhat flustered, "I… Did not have the time…"

"Why did you not have the time?"

"The child was sepa… Taken from me."

"Who took it, witch?" Asked Cullivan sharply cutting in.

Morrigan sat up straight and folded her hands beneath her chin. "Why, mother, of course… Flemeth." She said turning a cold gaze on him.

"_Asha 'belannar._" murmured Cullivan.

"Precisely, elf."

"Where did Flemeth take him?" Asked Neriya regaining the reins.

Morrigan shrugged, "How would I know…"

Neriya shook her head as if attempting to dislodge an unpleasant thought from it, "Do you care, do you care at all?" Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth she realised they were a mistake. Morrigan did not deal in emotions, least of all guilt.

"Why should I? I only conceived," Morrigan directed a special smile at Neriya here, "bore and birthed the brat… Perhaps, you should more accurately ask yourself, Neriya, do _you_ care? After all I did request, nay, begged that you, Alistair, and the others should slay Flemeth. Had you done so…"

"You would be using the child for your own ends and we would not be speaking now, would we?"

"Tsk, tsk, you assume so much, Neriya."

"So Flemeth took him when exactly?"

"Shortly after the birth."

"Why did no one stop her?"

"Because, Neriya…" Morrigan leaned across the table; Neriya leaned forward in her turn so that barely a few centimetres separated the two mages' noses. Cullivan could have sworn that Morrigan's eyes changed for a brief moment from gold to green and then back to gold again, she continued between clenched teeth "I was the only other person present and I was in no condition to prevent her."

Neriya leant back. "You _do_ care…" She muttered.

"Insofar as Flemeth took what was mine, yes." Morrigan's body relaxed back into the chair.

"It's more than that…"

"Believe what you will…" Morrigan replied lightly.

"Why have you made no effort to recover him?"

"It is pointless. I do not know where they are. Flemeth will not part with him willingly and I am powerless to compel her to."

"Why…" Asked Cullivan.

"If I attempt to take the child from her, she will possess me and then she will have me and my child both… I am happy that she let me live. Now, since I presume you have exhausted all your questions..." Morrigan got to her feet.

For a brief moment Neriya caught herself admiring her elegant fingernails and then realised that Morrigan had had to support herself by placing her hands on the table in order to stand. _Was Morrigan using a glamour?_ Neriya glanced up at her, Morrigan sneered at Neriya, tightening her mouth in feral snarl, and for a moment, the air between the two of them swirled with loathing.

"Have you seen him since?" Asked Cullivan.

"Don't be ridiculous…" said Morrigan turning her attention to him and retrieving her gloves.

"Who do you work for?" Asked Neriya.

"A foolish question, indeed… Since when have I worked for anyone but myself?"

"I hope your current employer and protector is aware of that…"

"It is none of your concern. Please do not trouble me again."


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter 47**

Dragon 9:35 Verimensis/Wintermarch Denerim [Present]

Alistair knew better than to run full tilt despite what his most basic instincts were urging him to do. The house by the alienage gates was a fair few kilometres from Fort Drakon so he purposely restricted himself to a very brisk walk. On the way, he was satisfied to pick up Captain Kylon and a mere select four of the most competent guards at the palace. He briefed the Captain as they went along telling him that the life of a friend he was looking after had been threatened.

It was a fairly cold day in Denerim although the snow had recently melted there had been several frosts. But as Alistair darted through the city's squares and streets dressed in full mourning and trailed by a handful of guards, pointedly _not_ pausing to greet his fellow citizens as he usually did when officially abroad, he hardly noticed that he had forgotten to pull on his gloves or don a thicker cloak more appropriate for the outside than for draughty chambers.

It took them about an hour to arrive at the three-storied town house on the arcaded square. Alistair fumbled at his belt for the key that he always carried with him. Once he had unlocked the door Kylon stepped inside in front of him paced through the little hallway and into the parlour. Alistair followed him two steps behind.

"Well, what do we have here?" The captain walked over to a figure that appeared to be sitting in one of the straw-seated chairs, slumping over the small round table. Alistair drew back the curtains.

Captain Kylon pulled up the head by its hair. The face was non-descript and bore a slightly surprised expression. A dagger protruded from its chest.

"At least this gentleman is beyond giving us any trouble, Your Majesty… And what's this, a letter?" It was on the table concealed by the body, The Captain picked it up, "Hmm it says 'to Alistair', you wouldn't happen to know any literate assassins, would you, Your Majesty?"

"Probably more than you could shake a stick at, Captain…" Alistair made a come-hither gesture with his fingers and Kylon handed him the letter.

While Alistair retreated to the window to peruse the letter, the Captain started barking orders:

"All right search the house make sure there is no-one here, under the beds, the wardrobes, attic, basement go through it thoroughly every centimetre please, but keep it as tidy as you can… And make sure you wipe your bloody boots before tramping all over the rugs…Don't break anything or it'll come out of your wages!"

Carefully avoiding the numerous dark marks on the parchment Alistair unfolded it and began to read:

_"Dear Friend Alistair_

_Profuse apologies for the slight mess I leave behind me._

_However, I just happened to be passing through and thought I would make your delightful little girl a first birthday present of this miscreant who was obviously loitering around with nefarious intentions towards her._

_I do not need to tell you that you should keep Niamh safe, Alistair, but I must add you have done well to keep her secure for so long, it is simply time for a change of address. As for that Dalish nanny, you have arranged for your child… Well! Let us just say that this humble Crow would **not** wish to get into a scrap with her… That is a compliment, by the way._

_We should meet sometime, catch up on the news perhaps, may I suggest this summer? I am sure the square outside will be most beautiful on a hot day in Solace… I shall get back to you nearer the time._

_Meanwhile do give little Niamh a kiss on behalf of her besotted uncle_

_Zevran A._

_PS Do not waste time searching for me when you read this, I will already be well on my way to… I'm sure you understand why I cannot say."_

With an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude, Alistair shook his head, refolded the letter very carefully and slipped it into his doublet.

"Bad news?" Asked Kylon.

"Good news, actually, and a blast from the past…"

"What do you suggest we do with this gentleman?" The Captain said pointing to the corpse.

"This is a nice neighbourhood, peaceful…"

"River?"

Alistair frowned. "Not very hygienic…"

"Wasteland burial?"

"I'd go with that… But before you do, search him, see if there's anything to identify him by. Actually, I want to see everything on him, clothing included."

"Will do. I trust the lady of the house is safely ensconced somewhere else?"

"Lady…"

"Your mistress. Only reason a man goes that fast is for his girl… A man needs a woman especially if his wife…"

Alistair held up his hand. "Quite."

"Good, then."

Alistair sat down at the table opposite the body. "Who do you think this guy was?"

"Maker knows, Sire"

"What about his boots?"

"Not new, not old, medium worn… I'd say," said Kylon checking out the corpse's feet and lifting its legs.

Alistair sighed.

Interpreting that as a sign of impatience, the Captain started bellowing up the stairs: "Are you lot finished yet? Jameson, don't let me catch you trying on ladies' clothes again! You're a good soldier but that can be distracting…"

Alistair raised his eyebrows.

"Takes all types." Commented Kylon, shrugging.

About ten minutes later the soldiers reported back. Alistair instructed Captain Kylon to take two of them and dispose of the body while he commandeered the remaining two.

* * *

Alistair had to knock three times before Jo opened the door to Lawler's small two-storey house. He left the guards outside while he entered. The rather cramped building was full of people and noise.

Jo was helping Lawler improve his reading, the boys were playing soldiers fighting up the stairs and on the second floor, Bregeth, and Puy were in the kitchen, preparing a meal for everybody and arguing good-humouredly about what the best form of baby food was vegetables or fruit. Niamh sat in a baby chair opposite Lawler and Jo, gurgling loudly and brandishing a wooden spoon that she had obviously confused with her sword.

Alistair went over to Niamh, picked her up kissed her cheeks and let her hit him on the head with the spoon while laughing with relief. He closed his eyes for a moment. This place felt like a home with a real mix of people and lots of noise and hassle and the smell of something good cooking in the kitchen. It wasn't a dormitory full of other men that reeked of sweat and damp socks or a bedroom well but simply furnished and empty of anyone save for himself. It was a place where people lived and talked and argued, ate and slept. He wondered if he would ever be anything but a visitor to such a place…

Then, putting Niamh over his shoulder he went into the kitchen.

"One more serving needed," Bregeth said to Puy, who just then turned from the iron stove and, seeing Alistair, stood rooted to the spot.

"Hello…" said Alistair.

Bregeth dug Puy in the ribs, "Pay some attention to the cooking, he's just a one more mouth to feed…"

Puy took stole another glance at Alistair and, muttering something, turned with red cheeks back to his hobs. Alistair handed Bregeth Zevran's letter.

"Oh him…" she said, "Huh, 'besotted uncle Zev', so he got the kill, opportunistic so and so…"

"Well he is a Crow…"

"And crows are just carrion birds…"

"And he certainly can't feed a baby like you can…"

"Flattery…"

"I think you should go back with Niamh to the Brecilian Forest for a few weeks while this blows over… Then I'll arrange new accommodation here and come and collect you. What do you think?"

Bregeth pursed her lips and nodded, giving him back the letter. "Yes, that seems the best way to go. It will be good for Niamh too; she can experience what it is like to be Dalish…"

"Do you think the Keeper will be amenable?"

"Lanaya? Of course she will, like most females and some _males_…" Bregeth raised her voice pointedly here, "She worships the ground you walk on…"

"Say, Alistair…" said Puy turning round, "Is this elf always so sharp-tongued?"

"No, not always…" replied Alistair, "not when she's asleep… but she does snore pretty loudly then…"

Puy giggled and went back to his cooking.

Alistair returned to the parlour where Lawler with a scrunched forehead was attempting to read aloud a complex history book while Jo quietly corrected him.

Alistair put Niamh back in the baby chair and handed her the spoon again and when his Knight Escort reached a convenient point, at the turn of the page, he said, "Thank you Lawler, you're a bloody hero."

Lawler glanced at Jo and then blushed and shifted his shoulders, "It was nothing…"

"Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Lawler pointed with his chin, got up and walked through the kitchen giving Puy a quick pat on the bum as he went past and opened a door into a little garden.

Alistair closed it behind them.

"My vegetable patch and fruit orchard," Said Lawler, "Carrots, potatoes, peas, beans, an apple tree…"

He walked up and down a mostly bare scrap of ground neatly arranged in earthen rows where a few wilted plants appeared to be struggling to survive.

"I didn't know you liked gardening…"

"It's relaxing, of course there's nothing doing at the moment 'cause the ground's too hard but spring will come soon enough. I even manage to bully the boys into helping out every now and then… So…" He said crossing his arms over his chest.

Alistair handed him the letter.

Lawler unfolded it and scrunched up his eyes, "Oh, our friend Zevran… Seems he's taken quite a liking to your little girl… I'd hate to think what would happen if he _didn't_ like her…" Alistair shifted uneasily. Lawler smiled and handed the letter back to him, "So I don't know whether it was the guy he killed or him or the both of them that I was picking up. I just knew I was picking up something…"

"You have good instincts…"

"Well…"

"Are you alright to take Bregeth and Niamh to the Brecilian Forest tomorrow? I think it's a good idea to get them out of the city for a while."

Lawler nodded, "I can do that…"

"Meantime I'll contact the Keeper and advise her you're coming… So many people at home…" He said waving towards the little house.

"It's cosy but a bit tight with Bregeth and Niamh…"

"I won't stay longer than dinner…" He paused, "Would you like a bigger house? Near the alienage gates… I mean I paid the lease for the year in advance…"

Lawler grinned, "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm not actually, no. I was thinking that when I bring them back to Denerim I could place Bregeth and Niamh a few doors down, whoever is after them won't necessarily expect that… Plus if you're in the neighbourhood… What do you think?"

"I think Bregeth and Puy are going to enjoy it… Even if they pretend to be arguing all the time… There's a little garden there too, isn't there?"

"Yep, it overlooks the alienage, just jump over the wall and you're on the other side…"

They were both silent for a little while watching dusk crawl over the Denerim sky, then Lawler said, "Alistair, you'll be alright won't you?"

"Of course I will…" Alistair scoffed.

"Are you sure now? I mean Niamh's fine of course, but this morning… and everything… wasn't very pleasant… and Lady C…"

"Just take care of the girls and I will take care of myself. It's the least I can do…"

"Sometimes I worry about you…"

"I'm—"

Before Alistair could think of something more reassuring to say, Bregeth poked her head out of the door and told them that if they were not at the table in two minutes there would be no supper left for them.

* * *

That evening Alistair summoned the elf named Petreus under the pretext that there was un-emptied chamber pot in his room. Petreus turned out to be tiny and wizened and not altogether with it but he memorized Alistair's message to the keeper quite keenly and promised to get it on its way as soon as possible and get back to Alistair with any reply. Alistair gave him a few silvers for his trouble.

* * *

Four days' later Alistair sat in one of the seediest taverns he had been known to frequent in Denerim. He had been in such a bad mood for the last few days that nothing less would do to suit his sense of misery.

He had not been sleeping too well. He kept waking up hearing the Bann's wife's scream echoing in his ears and having all sorts of confused dreams about the execution.

He had slain many people in his short life but it had mainly been in the course of fighting, which was slightly different, he thought, from a cold-blooded execution with the family present… Why, he could hardly remember the first person he had killed in combat… Oh yes, he could… _Bloody hell, more nightmare fodder… And then there was Loghain,_ he'd never regretted Loghain. _Not really. Had it coming… Buggeration. _

He tried to concentrate on the documents in front of him once again; he wasn't usually this slow…

It had snowed a few days ago. When it snowed at this time of year, he always remembered kissing Neriya in the market place and the snow fight they had had the following day…

He guessed he was lonely, basically. Niamh, Bregeth even Lawler were in the Brecilian Forest, well Lawler would be on his way back, Lady C had pulled a disappearing act…

Oswyn had dropped by, enthused about his staff fighting and happily displaying a most painful collection of bruises and extolling the brutality of Chantry folks once they got a rod in their grasp. It was all very interesting, of course, but Alistair just could not muster the passion he would have shown barely a few weeks' earlier.

Then they had started discussing the technicalities of lyrium trading and the ins and outs of different commercial strategies, in the end he had just not been able to follow so he had asked for a written report, which Oswyn had prepared already and it was this that he was now attempting to take in… He had tried to do it in his room at the palace but it was just too darned quiet for some reason, so he had brought it here… and this wasn't really working either…

He wondered whether he should ask for something stronger than ale, something stronger even than liquor, something that would make him forget, rub a few days away…

He looked back down at the papers and then looked up again, surely, he was mistaken? The sensation faded and with a sigh, he turned back, then someone seated themselves opposite him and there was no confusing it.

"I think your guard just went to have a pee, Alistair…"

"I thought I'd see you again…" His tone of voice, like his frame of mind was less than welcoming.

"I always seem to catch you in a crappy mood…" She commented, "Is there somewhere we can speak?" Asked Sagital.

"Here… Why not?"

"Because not, don't be bloody awkward Alistair!" she hissed at him.

"Sure you just want to talk?"

She leaned back and stuck her legs out, calming down. Just like several years ago when she was one of his interrogators, she was still in that shiny armour, still had the long glossy dark hair. Still stirred him up. "I don't mind… Whatever…"

Alistair waved to the man behind the bar and when he had caught his attention made a gesture in Sagital's direction. The taverner grinned went to the other end of the bar, extracted something from the wall and tossed it at Alistair. Alistair caught it on the fly.

"I see all is well in the Kingdom of Ferelden…"

* * *

"Why are we doing this?" Asked Alistair tearing himself away from their first kiss, they hadn't even made it to the bed. "Is it the taint? Does the taint do this to us?"

"It could be." Sagital said nonchalantly. She began to unhook his homespun surcoat. "It could also be our reaction to it, or simply our nature…"

"It's not the same for mages, though, is it?" He was fiddling with the straps of her plate-mail.

"No. But they have more experience and training in mental discipline than we do…"

An unmistakeable sound came from one of the neighbouring rooms. Alistair peeled off her plate-mail and arranged it over a chair. "What is this place Alistair, a bawdy house?"

"Welcome to Ferelden…"

They were both now in their chemises above the belt, "Somehow I envisaged that making love to a King would be… Different."

Sagital put one foot on the chair to assist him in unlacing her grieves while she tackled the other.

"I think you'll just have to make do," He said.

They were down to their small clothes and at last had made it to the bed.

Another noise, this time a distinctly male groan followed by a half-smothered exclamation of _"Maker!"_

Sagital lounged back onto the pillows quite shameless, quite naked.

"It was different in my imagination, very different…" but she was smiling. "Ah well, at least I see that your reputation is not entirely unearned…" she said looking at him.

"We aim to please." He said primly before kissing her again.

After a few hurried horizontal embraces Sagital got on all fours, Alistair straddled her and it was all over for them both quite quickly.

Once he had recovered his breath he said, "I'm not usually that swift. It must be this rather over-heated environment…"

Sagital's hand clasped his, "No," she said dropping down next to him, "I have always been like that… Really fast."

"Truly?" He asked quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh yes," She paused, "You look put out… Oh, you're not one of those guys who likes to work for it, are you?" she laughed.

"I guess, I am…" It had never occurred to him before that he was, but as he said it…

"Most men love it." Sagital went on, "They see it as an endorsement of their manly abilities…"

They were silent for a while. Alistair thought about how sad most men were, and then how sad _he_ was… "What do you want, Sagital?" He asked finally.

Sagital sighed. "Epson died."

Alistair grimaced at the ceiling, "So?"

"I killed him, Alistair…"

"And you wait till after we've done the deed to tell me?" He paused, "Of course you do…"

"It was in self-defence…"

"Then why didn't you stay to face the music in Orlais instead of cutting and running?" He was irritated now.

"I don't think it would have gone well for me…"

He looked at her directly, yes, there were no tears but she seemed upset, contrite… Still what did he know? Neriya had accused him once of thinking with his dick…

"He assaulted Neriya; you told me he had beaten you… Was that the truth?"

"Yes… yes it was…I loved him… He saved my life once, insisted that Konrad should recruit me as well as him when we were both in jail facing execution… but from then onwards he thought I was his to do with as he pleased… I belong to no one… To no-one…" She repeated the words quietly as if to convince herself, "I tried to get away, several times… He always tracked me down. Then we'd fight and eventually he would get the upper hand, until this last time…"

Alistair sat up. "I haven't seen you; we did not do this… The last time I saw you was four years ago" He found his smallclothes and started pulling them on, "The port is that way…" He pointed roughly to the east.

"I understand your position…" She said weakly.

"Good because I do, too. I don't owe you anything. Not a damn thing."

"I don't want to run…"

"Then go back to Orlais or turn yourself over to Dummond here… Remember? I promised you transit not asylum." He was hopping into his breeches.

"I was wondering if you could use me in some way… Give me some sort of assignment…"

"Like what?"

"I don't know… Send me to the wilds to search for your demon child…"

He narrowed his eyes and paused, "Why should I do that? You have hardly proven yourself trustworthy, it's not like we're even friends…"

Sagital turned on her side to face him, "Because you have a use for me…," she said and then "Because you are merciful…"

Something crossed his features; Alistair sat on the edge of the bed and put his face in his hands.

"Alistair?"

He turned quickly pinning her to the bed.

"You are Sorcha, from now onwards, not Sagital. You don't even know who she is… Change your appearance. Completely. So others can't recognise you. Meet me at the Mermaid and Anchor; it's in the port area, in three days' at around this time… If you're convincing, I may have something for you to do. If not… You're on your own…" He hastily pulled on the remainder of his clothing and grabbed the discarded papers. "Give me at least ten minutes before you leave. _Don't _follow me. If I don't see you again… Good bloody luck."


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter 48**

Dragon 9:35 Verimensis/Wintermarch Denerim [Present]

The next day he woke up face down sprawled over his bed. It seemed he had slept but his mind on waking was cluttered with unpleasant images and sounds. The execution, the sheets darkening, that scream, the noises from the other rooms, Sagital, it all seemed mixed up in his brain.

He thought about making love to Sagital… _Well, that piece of behaviour was not even making love, was it? It was a fuck, a screw…_ Until now, he hadn't really experienced a sexual act so lacking in either pleasure or satisfaction and so stained with unease.

They had both been in perfectly the wrong frame of mind for such an encounter, she must have been frightened and desperate, though like most Grey Wardens she had learnt to conceal her fear pretty well, even from herself, he was definitely depressed and bored. In the circumstances, getting it on was the most unimaginative approach to sealing their acquaintance but neither of them had been capable of taking a step back and seeing that.

They would have been far better off just talking things through and thrashing things out without adding an additional layer of complexity to their relationship such as it was. Thinking about it made him feel ashamed: he had taken advantage of her, while she was taking advantage of him and neither of them had come out of it particularly well, he believed.

Having intercourse, at first had been an expression of love, and, with Neriya, it always was. Then, after Neriya had left him both the first and the second time, he had justified it as a need, a need that was preferable, say, to drinking himself into a stupor. He hoped it had not now become a compulsion.

He required something to keep him occupied. He turned on his back and studied the ceiling. All these days he had been in Denerim, almost three weeks' now, and he had not even gone once to visit those horses.

With that in mind, he was just about able to persuade himself to get up. He shuffled himself into some very plain clothes and the already damaged pair of boots (_thank you, Lady C_), went down to the ground floor and around to that part of the courtyard that housed the stables.

Yes, once the King of Ferelden had had horses, his father Maric had ridden albeit not very well, Loghain had had a reputation as an accomplished equestrian and the Ferelden army had had a cavalry unit. However, that was at least fifteen years' ago.

* * *

Someone was pacing up and down the stable yard. There was a ruckus coming from some of the stables and what appeared to be a mass of debris, were being shovelled out from them, onto a pile in the middle of the yard. He only recognised this person as Eoin when he was a few steps away from him, because he appeared to have lost some weight and his skin was a lightly toasted biscuit brown.

When Eoin spun on his heel once he had reached the end of the yard and saw him, he looked a little stunned for a moment. "Your Majesty…"

"Hello, Eoin," Said Alistair, "'Nora tells me you brought me some horses…"

"Oh yes, Your Majesty, please forgive the current chaos, we are just mucking out…"

"Muck—"

"Mucking out, it means cleaning out each horse's stable. It helps keep them in good health."

Alistair looked at what was going on behind them. "It looks just like shovelling horse shit to me…"

"That is exactly what it is…" Replied Eoin.

"Can I do some too?"

"Excuse me…," said Eoin.

"It kinda looks like fun… and I guess if I use a horse I'll have to learn how to care for it anyway…"

Eoin pulled a face but, nevertheless, called on one of the boys to get Alistair a pair of gloves and a spade.

"While they do that, shall I introduce you to the horses?"

"Good idea."

"I travelled first of all to the Free Marches and once I got there I discovered that the horses with the best reputations were Antivan, so I went to Antiva… Our ambassador there was extremely helpful he provided me with a minor official to act as an interpreter and who found out the dates of local horse fairs. These are very big events; there are hundreds of horses for all different uses—"

The lad trotted back with the gloves and spade and Eoin took them.

"I was advised to buy several foals of different gender as well as being cheaper it would add to lifespan of our stables. So five of the horses aren't yet ready for riding… Apparently you have to wait until they're about three and a half years old otherwise they might be injured, but you can and should train them to wear a saddle before that though…"

Alistair had read about horses and seen pictures of them but the horse ridden by the strange knight about a year ago was the first he had seen in the flesh and obviously, because of what was going on then, he really had not had the time to observe it in detail.

The first thing that struck him, though, was how exquisite and how gentle these animals seemed. He put out his hand to the foals and they all approached and nuzzled it. He enjoyed the touch of their muzzles, noses and mouths so much that he found himself giggling like an eight-year old. Of the five, three were mostly grey, one was chestnut and the last one was brown/black although they all had a variety of distinct lighter or darker markings. Their coats were soft and shiny. They had longish awkward looking legs. And then there were their eyes they were dark and delightful and seemed full of emotion.

"These are beautiful creatures," said Eoin and Alistair found himself nodding in agreement.

"Do you know if they're related to brontos…?" he said while stroking the muzzle of a particularly affectionate filly who really seemed to enjoy the fuss.

"Sire…" Eoin said, extending his hands.

"Stupid question, ignore me…"

"You can change their names, some of the Antivan ones are quiet complex, you just have to call them by their new name with authority and preferably give them a treat. They like apples… Choose something simple and short. It should take them just a few weeks to get used to the new name… This breed has a reputation for being 'unnervingly intelligent'."

"It suddenly feels like a huge responsibility, naming them all… I'll have to think about it…"

"Allow me to show you the older horses…"

"Two geldings, two mares and one stallion. I imagine your main use for the horses will be riding, geldings are usually the easiest to control, stallions the most difficult with mares falling somewhere in the middle. Apparently, they, mares I mean, can be temperamental around… Well, their time of the month." Eoin looked a little embarrassed.

"I see." Said Alistair somewhat bemused.

"They don´t have times of the month in winter, it starts up in spring, so now would be a good time to get them used to being ridden again, perhaps…" Added Eoin. "They're the same breed as the young'uns… Antivan. They all have been trained to accept riders."

They were all well over a metre and a half tall and seemed both elegant and strongly built, with long necks, large chests and overall very physically powerful and sturdy in appearance. They had long, thick manes and tails. They were almost as alluring as the foals, though much larger. Again grey was the predominant colour but one of the mares was white and one of the geldings was dark.

Eoin insisted on bringing out the stallion. "Jonah," He called and one of the stable boys put down his shovel, "bring out…"

"The big one," completed the boy.

"Yes," said Eoin. While the boy went into the stall and bridled the horse, Eoin muttered to Alistair, "For some reason he prefers to be handled by _that_ boy, Jonah is very laid back and patient, but also firm, perhaps that's why he likes him…"

Alistair had heard, he did not recall where, perhaps it was one of the older Templars, that horses, like Mabaris could pick up whether you were afraid of them and tended to respond accordingly. Therefore, Alistair pulled himself up slightly.

The stallion was slightly taller than him and a dappled grey colour, resembling the hues of gathered rain clouds. What struck Alistair most was that he had large, almond-shaped eyes that seemed especially animated and friendly.

Alistair touched his nose and wished he were alone with him as he was with Mabya, when he used to talk to her, but he decided that the best way forward was to pretend the others were not there. Therefore, he went ahead, told the horse that he was very handsome, and hoped he had had a good journey. Alistair also explained that it wasn't always _this_ cold in Ferelden but that it often was, and promised him he would do his best to ensure that he was always happy, comfortable and warm…

The horse, who, on the spur of the moment, he decided to call 'Dusk', had poked his ears forward as if listening and seemed to like what he heard. Alistair was relieved that neither Eoin nor Jonah looked at him in a funny way while he was talking to him in this fashion.

"There's apparently a whole cartload of superstitions about horses, sire." Eoin prattled on, "You see that white mark on his forehead? It's called an 'irregular star' because it's not dead centre or a regular shape… If it was, he would have been twice the price…"

"You mean he's imperfect or judged to be imperfect…"

"Exactly, Your Majesty,"

"I like that…" Said Alistair taking Dusk's bridle from Jonah and patting his flank, "It's not the horse's fault, he was born with it and it's not a problem, but just the way the people around him see him…" He mused.

"I guess…"

"Like me." Alistair added quietly.

Eoin did not seem to hear or follow, "Anyway, Sire, then there's his legs," and he waved in their general direction. "You see both his front legs and one of his hind legs have some white on them, apparently that's meant to be unlucky, lucky horses have white on the back legs."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Apparently. And the more extensive white marks on one of his front legs and his back leg are called socks…"

"Socks? As in…" Alistair gestured towards his own feet.

"Yes."

"Oh, I get it."

"And that very narrow white marking around the hoof on his front right leg, that's called a 'coronet'"

"So he might be royalty after all…" Both Eoin and Jonah looked a little puzzled. Dusk whinnied quietly. Alistair was very used to his jokes falling flat and since even he recognised this was a particularly poor one, he did not let it get to him.

Alistair gave Dusk one last pat and returned the bridle to Jonah. "Since he's out, we might as well muck out the stallion's stable," Said Eoin to Jonah.

"I'll do it." Said Alistair, gently wresting the gloves and spade from Eoin's hands.

A look of shock passed over the deputy sub steward's face, and Alistair understood that he had not been taken seriously. "You deal with Dusk." Said Alistair to Jonah. The boy, who also seemed rather stunned, nodded. "Eoin, I have lots of questions for you, stick around while I do this…"

* * *

Anora was about to turn back as she realised that today she had mistimed her regular visit to the stables, they still appeared to be mucking out. It was a bit strange, though, because Eoin was in deep in conversation with one of the people mucking out and this man was rather large, she had only previously seen boys doing that job but he seemed to be going at it with some vigour. He had good legs, she thought, even through the breeches they seemed solid. A nice taut behind, too…

Eoin raised his eyes for a moment and spotted her. "Your Majesty…" he said.

The shoveller, stood up, she was about to tell him to continue with his work when he turned and said, "Good morning, Anora."

She was speechless. For a few moments, her first impulse was to scold Alistair soundly as she often did. However, that would be inappropriate in this setting and in particular in Eoin's presence so she bit her tongue. Alistair grinned down at her exactly as if he were reading her thoughts.

"Alistair…"

"Eoin here was telling me all about his trip to Antiva, it sounds fascinating…"

"I'm sure. But it must be very hot…" Remarked Anora.

Eoin nodded, "Oh, yes Your Majesty."

"And that would be uncomfortable and not at all good for my complexion,"Said Anora, "or for yours, Alistair. I would much prefer Orlais, less backwards."

"We could always wear hats, my dear…"

"Hats…"

"Anyway…" Said Alistair leaning on his spade looking amused. Anora noticed it was filthy and barely managed to suppress a shudder, "What are you doing here, 'Nora?"

"It's **A**, A-nora, 'Lister. I've…"

He noticed she was wearing a little burlap bag on a strap. Without so much as asking, he flipped it open, "Oh apples…" He said and took one, "Thanks." He added and bit into it.

"They are for the horses, Alistair."

"Oh so you come regularly to feed the horses, do you?" He grinned. "What was it you told me at one of our meetings when I returned from the Brecilian forest? Oh yeah, that sending Eoin away to buy horses was 'a waste of resources that we could ill afford', or something of that ilk."

Anora noticed that Eoin had taken a few cautious steps back. "Sometimes you can be so annoying, Alistair." She hissed.

"I'm just teasing… I'm sure you must be a nice person somewhere deep down, right? If only nice to _liddl horsies_… Anyways, do you have any experience of horses…?" He took another bite.

"Yes, actually, I do. I used to ride…"

"Really?" He said between mouthfuls.

"Yes, really, Alistair…"

"So do you want one?" He spat out a few seeds, Anora frowned.

"Are you offering me one?"

"I might be. They are mine, after all…"

"No."

"Is that 'no' because _I'm_ offering it to you? Or 'no' because of something else… Just curious, here." Another bite.

Anora took a deep breath, "When I was twelve or so, I fell off my horse and broke a leg very badly… It took ages to heal even with the best healers and physicians… I never want to ride a horse again, but that doesn't mean I don't like them…"

"I see." He said looking at her thoughtfully, chewing, and then, "I'm sorry… I was just wondering whether there was anyone in Ferelden who could teach me… To ride I mean…"

"You didn't think of that before? Well that is not me, I'm afraid…"

He threw the remains of the apple on the muck pile. "Bummer…"

I hate to say this but you know the Couslands?"

"Who doesn't know the Couslands…?"

"Fergus and Rous, they both had a reputation for being excellent equestrians when they were younger…"

* * *

"A sovereign that she approaches us anyway…"

Dummond laughed, "I am not as well off as you…"

"I am not well off." Said Alistair, "far from it… fifteen silver then, surely even you can afford fifteen silver…"

"I can but I would have to bet against you and I think you're right and she'll approach as anyway…"

"This is no fun."

"Have some more to drink, then it won't matter…"

Alistair sighed he wanted to have his wits about him so he was going to resist Dummond's suggestion, "So you've known her for about twelve years…"

"That's right… We may not have been at exactly the same joining but give or take a few years…"

"And Epson… Oh…"

A woman in a hooded cloak and a common robe took the third seat at the table. Sagital pulled back her hood, the first thing Alistair noted was her hair, and it was now short and blonde. He could not help grimacing. Her eyes were also heavily made up she had rouged her lips and cheeks, she wore two large elaborate earrings on her ears and a gaudy medallion round her neck.

"Is either of you two gentlemen feeling lonely?" She asked in a low throaty voice. "Or perhaps both of you are…" She winked.

"How much?" Asked Dummond, grinning.

"Why for you sweetie…" She said leaning forward, making eye contact and resting a hand on his arm, "Let's say fifteen silvers…"

"See." Dummond said turning to Alistair, "I would have been thirty down…"

"I already feel as if I have known you forever, _mon cher…_" She said licking her lips.

"Okay, okay," Said Alistair, "Enough. I'm sorry… Sorcha."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, if you intend to keep your promise." She said her tone changing immediately. "This is just a slight… Regression for me, back to my past, as it were..." She looked amused, "You are strangely fastidious Alistair… I had no idea."

"I know what I like, I think. Hopefully, I also know when I'm wrong… We shouldn't have… But we did so…" He opened his hands, "Here we are."

"And what is your decision." She said turning all her attention to him.

"Orzammar. One year." He said lowering his eyes to the table.

"Ugh, I hate Orzammar… So hot and stuffy and… dwarves…"

"Orzammar or port. Your choice." Said Alistair.

"One year?" She asked.

"One year and you can go where you want in Ferelden and do what you want, within the law, of course… I think that's generous…"

"And you are in agreement with this?" She asked turning to Dummond.

"Yes." He said steepling his hands, all levity gone.

Sagital/Sorcha pursed her lips. "Done then…"


	49. Chapter 49

**Author's note:** _An author's note? Yes, I know you might not be used to this because it's my very first one. What follows below is in effect, a re-write of chapter 49. A re-write because it was pointed out to me by someone I respect that she thought there might be a way to improve this chapter. I challenged her to do it and faced with what she presented to me had to concede defeat. So what follows is in fact a new draft of the chapter beta'ed by Cadsuane (look up her stuff at .net/u/2279176/Cadsuane). You will notice that there is much less sex in this chapter than in my previous draft. Please note: I AM NOT WIMPING OUT. Merely delaying gratification. I think the narrative flows the better for it. Should you disagree (or agree) I would be happy to hear from you. Should you want to receive a copy of the initial full-blooded draft, pm me, I'll forward it to you. Well, enough talking from me for the time being, let's get to it..._

**Chapter 49**

Dragon 9:35 Pluritanis/Guardian Denerim [Present]

A week later, Alistair was feeling very tired. It had been an audience day, and a particularly trying one at that.

Today's audience had been mainly for subjects seeking aid, and it was always hard for him to see people suffering. One young mother, recently widowed and petitioning the crown for help as a last resort, had brought her child with her, and its cries had spoken more powerfully to her suffering than anything else. Practically begging, she had said, "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, he's hungry. We all are and—" She broke off and started coughing, a horrible wracking sound that made her rib cage vibrate under her threadbare corset. She held her sleeve up to her mouth, "I'm so sorry…," she sobbed, gasping for air. "It's one of those things going around and—" Another series of hacking coughs. She bent over her child, her face red with effort and embarrassment, eyes streaming. He got up, walked down to her and held her out a handkerchief. _She even hesitated to take it, Maker bless her._ "I…."

That was just one of the first.

Thankfully, Lawler had been there, and afterwards he could just talk about what had happened over with him without having to go into too much detail.

"Anyway…" he said by way of concluding their patchwork conversation, "tomorrow will be another day." Seldom had the sound of his bedroom door opening on its well-oiled hinges been more welcome.

He went round, lighting a few of the dim lamps, and then checked the fire. Stirring the embers, he added some more wood to build the fire enough to take the chill from the air. As he poked desultorily at it, he thought he would forego reading tonight. It usually helped him fall asleep. He sometimes wondered what Anora thought when he'd had to straighten out the parchment at the meeting because they had creased when he rolled over them in his sleep.

Satisfied with the fire, he rose and began undoing the buttons of the heavy doublet he wore. He shrugged it off, letting it fall and tugged off his boots. Socks were next, then the heavy weight wool trousers he wore, and he was left in only the linen shirt and pants he wore beneath his heavier winter garments. His bedroom was warm enough for comfort, but there was no removing the ever-present chill of winter from much of the palace.

Leaving his boots where they were, he picked up his doublet and pants, intending to drape them on a chair so the servants could brush and air them out in the morning.

Suddenly he froze. There was something over the back of the chair that should not have been there. Putting his clothes across the seat, he picked it up to look—a set of leathers that creaked slightly as he handled them. Strangely familiar leathers…. Alistair draped them back over the chair and went over to the bed with a few hasty strides.

Well, there Rous was, sleeping like a baby under the top covers, curled up facing away from the fire with her hands folded before her mouth. He didn't know what to make of her presence. It was not as if she needed to sneak in if she just wanted to sleep with him. _Perhaps she just wanted to talk… Yeah, right. And, how _had_ she gotten in here?_

He went back to the chair and slumped into it. He must have fallen asleep too because when he came around again his neck ached, and the fire was almost down to embers again. There was still no sound from the bed. He rubbed the back of his neck for a few seconds, put some more wood on the fire and stoked it.

He walked over to the bed and shook his head at the sight.

Eventually he put out a hand and stroked her cheek. She began to come to. She sighed, turned over on her back, opened her eyes… and saw him looking down at her, "Bugger…."

"And good evening to you, too, Lady Cousland."

She sat up. "What time is it?"

"Late. Or early. I've really no idea." He went back to the fire and began poking at it again.

She got up and padded after him, swearing quietly as her feet touched the cold flagstones of the floor.

"I should call Lawler in, have you locked up," he said not making eye contact.

"Locked up…. Where?" She was standing next to him now, holding her hands out to the flames.

He looked at her. Rous appeared to be wearing nothing more than an oversized shirt that fell barely two hand spans below her hips. _Nice legs._ "In one of the cells downstairs."

"You're bluffing. There are no cells downstairs."

He placed the poker in the stand with the rest of the fire irons and stood up straight. Casting another look at her, and the slight shivering of her frame, he grabbed his doublet off the chair and dropped it over her shoulders. "You really don't think there are cells in the royal palace? Every other castle in Ferelden has them, but not this one?"

She drew the doublet around her. "You wouldn't really put me in a cold, dark, nasty cell, would you?"

"In the library then, the basement library. There are some very scary books down there."

"And also a secret passageway out of the palace."

"How—?"

"I'm a Cousland, Alistair," she said with haughty toss of her head, and for a moment, she reminded him of Anora or Lady Helmi. _Almost naked and still tossing her head around like a lady. Nobles…._

"Bet you couldn't find it."

"Bet I could. It wouldn't be the first time."

He was too tired for this back and forth. "So… what in the Maker's name are you doing here, Rous?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked. She raised her face to his, and her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips. "Kiss me again, like you did a few weeks ago," she said quietly.

It was tempting, but her behaviour had been erratic enough that it held him back. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't think so. I—"

"Please, Alistair." She held her arms out to him.

Alistair hesitated. "I…."

"Please, I know I've teased you. Let me make it up to you…." Rous bowed her head, so her hair covered her face and she was almost talking to the floor. Her hands now tugged nervously at the hem of her shirt she was wearing. Without knowing exactly why, she reminded him of the young widow. "I know I made you wait after leading you on and that wasn't right. But… it took me so much courage to come here today…."

"Courage…" Alistair echoed. "You seem very much to be in one piece. I'm not… I'm not going to assault you or anything, that's—"

"That's not what I meant," she said looking at him, tossing back her head again.

"Then what do you mean, Rous? I'm not following you here."

"Fair enough," she said. "I… have to show you something…." Rous turned her back to him, shrugged her shoulders to let his doublet fall, and began to unlace her shirt. She still had her smallclothes on, barely visible through the thin material.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back towards the light of the fire, and pulled back the shirt so he could clearly see her right breast. The scar from a deep cut slashed down diagonally from left to right, traversing the nipple. It had been crudely sown so there was a wide, raised scar across it, about the length of his palm. Alistair was very silent for a few seconds and then looked up to her face.

"It is useless," she explained glancing away when his eyes met hers. "The physicians say it didn't heal right and the—" The word seemed to stick in her throat. "Well… it's so damaged that I'll never be able to feed a child with it…." Her eyes were quite dry. "I can't even feel anything there either…."

For a moment, he was utterly still. "Oh, Rous…." Then Alistair took a step towards her, leaned over and wrapped his arms around her. For a while, she just nestled tightly against his chest. "Sodding bastards," he murmured against her hair.

The bedroom door cracked open, and Alistair looked over to see Lawler framed in the doorway. He must have heard something through the door and thought to check. Rous stiffened and dug her face even deeper against Alistair's chest as if that would keep her concealed. When Lawler saw Rous, who had her back to him, his eyebrows shot up. Alistair made a shooing motion with one of his hands and tried to mouth, "I'll explain tomorrow" to him. Lawler shook his head and grinned, showing all his teeth. The door closed.

"Is he gone?" she asked from against Alistair's chest.

"Yes," he replied stroking the back of her head. She sighed.

"I haven't shown this to anyone before. Fergus…. He knows, of course, but it's not the same. You… you're the first person I've ever shown."

After another moment, she shifted and he stepped back to release her somewhat. She reached up and slipped the shirt down over her other shoulder, exposing her left breast.

"This one is fine," she said, swallowing.

It was. Perfectly formed, porcelain white and rosy tipped.

There were other marks, a tracery of scores on her chest, and lower down on her stomach that he could see, but none as deep or vicious as that on her right breast.

Men boasted about scars and showed them off to each other all the time. It somehow vindicated them, proved to them what they had been through, that they had survived. It was proof of their resilience. He had never done that himself, nor had he let his scars concern him.

But for a woman? No, it wouldn't be the same. Their appearance was always judged, to a higher standard than men's. As stupid as that was, especially for a fighter, it was sadly true.

He had already knew that she was strong, but he wondered just how much fortitude was required to live with something that would be considered as disfiguring as that. How many would look and see only the imperfections of the surface and not the beauty of her strength?

Now he thought he understood the way she had vacillated, if not the rest of her behaviour. It must have taken every ounce of courage she had in her to reveal this to him. In some way, for some strange reason, she must trust him.

He was moved by her decision to confide in him, even…honoured. Her strength, her resilience, her courage were all things he had seen in few women since Neriya. Maybe none. There were even fewer with whom he could share his own feelings and experiences. Fewer still that he would want to. He was starting to think that Rous just might be one of them. And a very different person than he'd thought.

"Why me?" he asked.

She was quiet for a long moment. "Because you're a fighter. Because you put up with me. . Because you killed Howe. I thought if anyone would understand…."

He wanted to take her to his bed right now and make love to her, to show her just how beautiful he found her. So why wasn't he doing just that?

Because it would be too much like what happened with Sagital. An empty thing based in her fear and his loneliness, with little joy for either of them, and Sagital was nowhere near as vulnerable as Rous.

That was a depressing—that he may have grown accustomed to using others for his own gratification and letting others use him. The only one who had wanted more from him than that, expected more from him, had been Neriya, and she was… gone. And he was tired of being lonely.

The chain of thought was a melancholy one, that served to both show how much he'd lost from who he'd once been, and cool his current ardour. It wasn't that he didn't want Rous. He did. But he also wanted more than just her body.

No, he could not do this. He would not.

Alistair reached out and gently pulled her shirt back up, covering her. "It's cold and late," he said.

Hurt flashed in her eyes, but she stood quietly under his ministrations as he relaced the shirt.

Then she laughed, the sound brittle. "I should have known a king would only want pretty, flawless things in his bed," she said, looking away.

Grasping her chin, he turned her head back to face him. "You are very beautiful." He kissed her briefly on the lips.

She laughed again. "You're just saying that, just being kind. You don't have to lie."

Alistair took a half step back, clasped her wrist, and brought her hand abruptly to his groin so she could feel the hardness there. "This part of me," he said slowly gazing at her, "doesn't lie."

He released her wrist and moved another step back. "I don't want to have sex with you. Well, I do, but… not right now, not like this. You…. I just want…. Just stay, all right?"

For the first time in years, he felt like the virgin templar again, unsure of what _exactly_ he wanted or how to ask for it.

"Yes…." Rous stepped forward, placing her hands on his chest and sliding them around his neck. She moved closer, pressing against and tilting her face up to his. "I want _you_," she whispered.

It would be easy, so very easy, to take what she clearly offered, just take her to bed, lose himself for a few hours as he always did between the thighs of a willing woman. And he wanted to. Maker, where had all his willpower gone?

No, he might not know what he wanted, not in a way he could name, but he knew what he didn't want, and that was to feel as he had when he realised he had caused Sagital to play the whore she had once been, and she had mocked him with it. Not to use Rous and be used by her in return.

He caught her wrists and removed her hands from his neck. He turned them over and pressed a kiss into each palm. "No," he said softly.

Rous frowned. "I don't understand."

"You deserve more than what you're asking for. So, for tonight, just stay with me. Nothing more." He began to unbutton his shirt and removed it.

For a long moment, she gazed at him. "Fine," she muttered.

Alistair stepped away from her, and with one of her hands tucked into his walked over to the bed. He slid under the blankets she had disturbed earlier and held out a hand. Rous came to him, still frowning slightly as she slipped in behind him, and lay down next to him, if a bit stiffly at first.

He ignored that, and instead pulled her close against him, her back to his chest, wrapping himself around her.

It felt… good. _She_ felt good, relaxing as time wore on and letting her body mold to his. Strange, to be doing this. Strange to just lay against a person with no—or almost no—expectations to perform, and just enjoy the sense of not being alone. Strange to simply have his arms around a woman he didn't really know, had barely begun to understand, and feel so…content.

* * *

The next morning, he awoke slowly feeling surprisingly good—happy, even. As memories came back to him, he smiled and reached for Rous, only to encounter empty blankets. He cracked his eyes open slightly to look around.

She was dressed in her leathers and creeping toward the door on silent feet.

He sat up. "Where are you going, hmmm?"

She looked somewhat startled that he had caught her attempting to sneak out on him. "Fergus."

Alistair huffed in annoyance, wondering why this bothered him so much. "You've already been out all night. What're a few more hours? Stay with me."

"I can't…."

He sighed. "Fine. Go then, if you're so eager to flee my arms." He scowled in a mock pout and she laughed. "_And_ laughing at me. You're a cruel woman."

"My apologies, Your Majesty," she drawled and he couldn't keep from grinning at her.

Then, "Rous? The First Day ball is next week. You're on the guest list. I would really like to see you there. You _and_ Fergus. No more of this using him as an excuse to steal away."

Rous raised an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

"Yes. If you're so bloody determined not to stay, tell Lawler to get me up in about half an hour."

"Of course. How could anyone resist such a well mannered request?"

He picked up the humor in her response and grinned. "Sorry. Old habits." He punched his pillow back into shape. "Don't forget the ball."

"I won't."

"Good…."


	50. Chapter 50

_**Author's note: **Dear reader, you may notice that some of the content of this chapter does not gel with what you may recall of 49. You are not going mad. It is simply that chapter 49 has been re-written. Many thanks to Cadsuane for her work and time on this chapter which has greatly improved it. Any bluntness, errors, inconsistencies etc. are all mine._

**Chapter 50**

Dragon 9:35 Pluritanis/Guardian Denerim [Present]

"Up then, sleepy head," said Lawler, opening the curtains. "Although it seems you have been _up_ most of the night." He went over and sat on Alistair's bed. "So tell me…"

"Uh…" said Alistair. He'd quickly fallen deeply asleep again following Rous's departure and it took him a moment to focus.

Lawler allowed him a few moments to collect himself, shooting him a curious glance from the edge of the bed. Evading the unspoken question momentarily, Alistair asked hastily, "How did she look?"

"Okay, I guess. She came out, told me that you had commanded her to inform me to wake you up in half an hour's time and went on her merry way."

"Did she look happy?"

Lawler looked at him curiously. "She looked… content?" he offered carefully. "Her hair was a bit messy, but she seemed perfectly fine… Why? Shouldn't she have?"

Alistair turned and lay on his back. "Ah… I guess that will have to do."

"What about you?" Before Alistair could reply there was a discreet knock on the door, "Oh, that must be the page with the hot water." Lawler went and opened it. He took the kettle across the room and poured some of the water into the basin in front of the mirror.

Alistair groaned and got up. Lawler's eyebrows shot up when he saw that Alistair still had his linen pants on.

"Perhaps you should get yourself a dressing gown or something…"

Alistair gave Lawler a long look.

"Just saying. I mean if you insist on covering up in front of me…"

"Sod off…" Alistair muttered.

Lawler crossed his arms leaned against the wall next to the mirror. "Quite." He paused for a moment. "So… did you, um, invite the Lady Cousland to the palace?"

"No. She was in my room when I got here."

"I see. If you don't mind me asking, how did she get in?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea."

Lawler cleared his throat. "And you're not worried about this?"

"No, I'm not, all right?" Alistair snapped.

"Fine." Lawler held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just trying to do my job, and someone being able to sneak into the king's bedchamber seems a bit concerning to me."

Alistair looked in the mirror and ran a hand over his face. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just distracted, that's all. I _did_ wonder about how she got in here, it was my first thought when I saw her." He splashed water over his face and began applying soap.

"Did you ask her?"

"No."

"Probably too busy," Lawler muttered.

Alistair sighed. "We didn't actually… _do_ anything. And yes, I should have asked her. That's my fault." He picked up the straight razor and appraised his appearance in the mirror, turning his face this way and that in an attempt to see exactly what he needed to take care of.

A quick glance out of the corner of his eye caught Lawler's sceptical expression. "You don't believe me," he said wryly.

"Oh, I do," said Lawler. "You're a terrible liar, but I don't understand. Why—"

"It's complicated," Alistair cut him off.

"Uh huh." Lawler was frowning at Alistair, looking puzzled. "Well, that's… good?"

Running the razor over his right cheek in a few swift strokes, Alistair thought about how to respond. He couldn't tell Lawler what Rous had revealed to him, and, because the two were connected, he couldn't explain why he didn't make love to her, either.

He rinsed the razor. "There are still things I need to find out."

"Like how she got into your bedroom."

Alistair sighed.

"She mentioned a passage leading from the library, but I don't know if that's just a guess or if she knew something." He started on his left cheek and then paused. "I _hope_ she didn't actually know about it.".

"That's not good, if she knew about it. We'll have to have some people look., It could be she got in earlier in the day and managed to just sneak up here and wait."

"Well, she was asleep when I found her, so I assume she was here for awhile." He rinsed the razor again and began on his neck.

"Hmmm. We'll have to see if the guards or any of the servants saw anything, though I'd hope if they had, they'd have mentioned it. I suppose she could have come in via the inner courtyard and somehow got up to a window."

"You really think so, Lawler? I mean the window would have to be open on the inside, and it's pretty cold…"

"I didn't say this window." He shook his head and groaned in frustration. "Alistair, why didn't you ask her? It would have been so much easier."

"As I said, it's complicated." He paused to work the razor carefully over his rather tricky upper lip. Complicated didn't really begin to describe what was going on right now, and he wasn't sure Lawler would understand. He wasn't sure he understood it himself.

"Do you trust her?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" he asked, pointing at his reflection in the glass.

"I'll give you that, but trusting someone _after_ the fact isn't the same thing."

"I know, it's just…"

Sighing in frustration, he braced his hands on the washstand and let his head hang down. "Listen, the other day I did something I regret… because it was _easy_. Without going into the details, I made an already difficult situation even worse.

"When Rous turned me down a couple of weeks ago after coming on to me, I decided to just forget about it. Not to actively pursue her. I thought there may be a problem, that perhaps she would come around in time, she didn't seem… quite balanced. And when I first found her last night, my opinion hadn't really changed."

"And it's changed now?" Lawler asked after a moment.

"Yes."

Alistair waited, expecting more questions. But Lawler said nothing, grunted and nodded his head thoughtfully.

"Well then," he clapped Alistair on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to finish getting ready while I begin questioning your ever-vigilant guards."

* * *

Standing against a wall, apart from the crowd around them, Fergus and Rous held their glasses of wine and watched the revellers. Though they were surrounded by people, none approached them, leaving the siblings to together and alone, a sombre little island in a sea of good cheer. That's the way it usually was now,. Apart from political discussions—always with Fergus—the other nobles tended to leave them alone now, as if they didn't know what to say to them any longer. Or as if too much contact with them would bring them bad luck or something.

_Well screw them_, he thought. They didn't need anyone else. They'd been able to get by just fine without them. Just fine. After all, most of them appeared to have accepted the murder of his wife, child and parents and Howe's subsequent usurpation of the Cousland title without protest or even so much as a murmur. He just could no't bring himself to trust them following that.

"Another year. Dragon 35," Fergus muttered. "I suppose it's _something_ to celebrate. And better later than never."

"Another year." Rous held up her glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers." He peered round the great hall. "This is nothing like Cailan's time, everybody and everything seems to be more settled now, more subdued."

Though the hall was thronged and there was some dancing going on, from where they were standing they caught the occasional strain of music. For all the bright clothes, lively music and hearty conversation, the festivities seemed to be muted. Perhaps it was the long winter or the illnesses going round. Or perhaps he was simply imagining things, seeing his own dark mood in those around him.

"It certainly appears that way." But then, he thought, Rosy was like part of him and almost always agreed with him so that did not really count .

"And since when did everybody stop laughing?" he said feeling miserable and thinking back to when he was younger and carefree. "Do you think Cailan's days were the good days?"

"I honestly don't know any more," she said frowning, "You were more familiar with the big parties in Denerim then than I was. I remember you used to come back to us full of racy stories. I was so jealous of you."

"The Chantry would say we had it coming. Our generation I mean."

"The Chantry…" Rous's frown quickly became a scowl. "We've been all over this. Time and again. Everyone's entitled to their opinion, but do you really think the Maker's such a pettifogger? Even if _we_ brought it on ourselves—our generation I mean—and that's very, very questionable, what about those that didn't? You know whom I mean… And so many others…"

He nodded and drank deeply, and then looked at the crystal goblet appreciatively. "I much prefer this regime to old grim-face, anyhow…"

"I would say so."

"Wine's getting better at least…"

"See, something must be going right if the wine is improving!" His sister smiled at him brightly. She was concerned about him. It was obvious whenever they were together that she was desperate to cheer him up.

He gave her a small smile, and was rewarded by a bigger grin from her. He took in the dark blue dress with the silver star pattern she was wearing. Though she always looked nice, she seemed to have made an extra effort with her appearance this evening. "You're looking pretty, too…"

"Thanks." Rous seemed… relaxed. Happy. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen her like this, and found he had trouble doing so.

"Rous, Fergus! Happy First Day to you both." Oswyn held out his glass and they both clinked theirs against it.

"Happy First Day, Oswyn. I was beginning to think we wouldn't have one this year."

"I know, I know. Apparently, there was some discussion about cancelling it altogether. The holiday was originally about making sure neighbours had survived the winter and it serves as a welcome break, everyone felt that was still needed, especially after this winter. If you're looking for someone to blame, it's all His Majesty's fault."

"Oh?" said Fergus.

"He—_we_—traipsed over to Orzammar on a diplomatic jaunt at the end of last year and then he took it into his head to do some fighting in the Deep Roads, just like the good old days. He said he missed it." A roll of his eyes conveyed Oswyn's thoughts on that. "Anyway, his escapade took longer than we had anticipated. Anora nearly had a fit. Then there was that unpleasantness with the Bann, and it was thought disrespectful to hold a party too close to that. So…" Oswyn opened his arms. "Here we are, celebrating First Day in Guardian."

"Orzammar… I've never been there. What's that like, Oswyn?" asked Fergus.

"Hot, lots of rock over your head, rivers of lava… It's… unique. For the first week, I was quite unsettled… The whole otherworldliness of the place really got to me. But the _dwarva_ are fascinating people, their records are… thorough and comprehensive. We went to a proving. It was barbaric, but fun. And female dwarves are…" Oswyn lowered his voice. "I can't really do them justice. They're different, exotic. Tough, like the stone they come from, but… sweet?"

Rous laughed. "Oh dear, Oswyn, you look quite taken."

"I know. I was." Oswyn shook his head.

"Dwarves sound like the Chasind," mused Fergus. "When I married Oriana, I thought Antivans and their culture were exotic—which they are, to an extent, but the Chasind… And they, like Orzammar, are right on our doorstep…"

Oswyn cocked his head. "Weren't you going to write a memoir of your time among the Chasind, Fergus? Whatever happened to that?"

"Didn't get beyond the first two pages, I'm afraid. Didn't really… lost the will." Fergus emptied his glass. A helpful Elven servant refilled it for him. "Thanks" he muttered.

"If you did, I'm sure Alistair would love to read it. He's very curious about those sorts of things." Oswyn paused. "Have you seen him at all lately, Rous?"

"Only in passing…" Rous said, lowering her eyes and taking a quick sip from her glass.

Fergus glanced at her inquisitively. Usually by this time, Rous would be out mingling and he wondered why she wasn't. Oswyn's question nagged at him, too. Why would he have asked if she'd seen the King? He frowned slightly , and then turned back to Oswyn. Time would tell. "So, Harrowmont… How's he getting on?" he asked.

* * *

Rous looked over the great hall. She thought she'd spotted Alistair earlier out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't dare openly scan the hall while Fergus had all his attention focused on her because she knew he would pick something up. Maybe not whom she was looking for, but that she was looking for someone. And then he'd want to know _who_ and _why_ and she wasn't ready to answer that yet. But for now he seemed quite happy and distracted discussing dwarven politics with Oswyn.

For the last year or so, Fergus had been trying to 'come back' as he put it, to adapt to post-Blight Ferelden. To continue doing his duty as a Cousland like their parents had taught them. Rous probably wasn't doing them very proud, but Fergus had always been the more responsible of the two. He had thrown himself back into the rebuilding of Highever and recovering the teyrnir's former prosperity with single-minded purpose.

Rous also detected not a little desperation in it, a need to make his peace with the dead by safeguarding the living. _"Never again." _he used to say to her during their frequent long walks together at Highever._ "Never again. We must make sure that what happened to us, our family never happens to anyone else in Ferelden again. Ever."_

Rous wasn't sure that either of them could actually ensure that, although she was in agreement with him that at the very least they owed it to their departed loved ones to try.

However, there was no one to continue the line so when she and Fergus passed, the Couslands of Highever would be history.

There were days, she admitted to herself, when that thought really upset her and days when she no longer cared—when she just wanted a little brightness for herself at any cost. Occasionally it was like having Eleanor, her mother, inside her head. Eleanor who, while she never openly criticised Rous's headstrong ways, believed so fervently in the inherent happiness that settling down with the right person could bring. Her parents had been so close…

She felt a light touch on her shoulder. "Hello Rous," said a voice behind her. Startled, she turned a bit too quickly and her wine slopped over her hand.

"Um… Hello, Your Majesty."

He looked faintly amused. He was dressed a scarlet surcoat and dark breeches. Scarlet did not really suit him. It was too vivid and it swamped his complexion somewhat. "I've been trying to catch up with you all evening, but people kept getting in the way. Anyway… You look beautiful," he said quietly.

"Sire," said Fergus from behind them. "Excellent wine. What is it?" Rous could feel his eyes examining both of them as he addressed Alistair. "And by the way, happy, belated, First Day." He held out his glass.

"Yes, sorry about that, Teyrn, It was entirely my fault. The wine is from the Free Marches, actually," said Alistair clinking his goblet against Fergus's and then against Rous's.

"Huh," said Fergus, holding it up to the light. "Good colour…"

The small group fell silent for a moment. "I, ah, was just telling your sister how pretty she looks." Alistair added

"She does, doesn't she?" Fergus grinned at her. "I'm trying to convince her to marry someone," he said.

"Really?" asked Alistair, his tone just a bit hesitant. "Rous didn't, ah, mention that."

"Yes. Really." Replied Fergus pulling a serious face and narrowing his eyes. "Rosy needs to be making little Couslands, like tomorrow."

"Do you have anyone in mind, Teyrn?" To Rous Alistair tried seemed to be making an effort to keep the question mild.

"Not yet, I am still considering her options… But I will tell you something… "

"Yes?" Said Alistair weakly.

"Any man that takes this little minx on…" Fergus put his arm around Rous's waist and pulled her to him, "Will have to have the patience of Andraste, the resourcefulness of Calenhad, and the feistiness of a prime Mabari stud…"

"Your Highness…" Rous had flushed and she sidestepped Fergus's arm.

"Yes, Lady Cousland?"

"I feel a sudden inclination to dance." Rous held out her hand and Alistair took it.

When they were a few steps away, Alistair whispered vehemently, "Rous, what the hell—"

"I need to scream, Alistair, take me somewhere where I can scream, quickly now…"

Alistair ushered Rous into a hallway and from there to a little side room on the way to the chapel. He slammed the door behind them and then allowed himself to fall heavily against it.

"Rous, please tell me—" He said with urgency he felt as if he were about to start howling, too. Howling or whimpering…

Rous went quickly over to the opposite wall with her back to him braced her hands against it, lowered her head, took a very deep breath and issued two ear-piercing screams.

"Rous, what the—"

"Bloody, bloody, bloody Fergus!" She had bunched her right hand into a fist and started thumping the wall.

Alistair went to her quickly, and caught her wrist in a gentle but firmly grip. "Breathing deeply might help," he suggested. "Your hands are too pretty to hurt. Now…"

Rous took a deep breath through her nose, turned to face Alistair, and leaned against the wall. He released her wrist.

"Fergus…" she said, "…was making a joke. A joke at our expense, Alistair. That _ass_."

"A joke?" asked Alistair.

"A joke. The first time he makes a joke in almost four years and it has to be today, here in front of you." She said wiping her face with her sleeve. "Idiot. I'll make sure he pays very dearly for this…"

Alistair looked at her stunned.

"What?" she said, "You really think _he_ would marry _me _off? And you think _I_ would let him and wouldn't tell you something like that?"

"Well, I… He seemed…" He searched for the right response. What did _he_ know about how nobles went about these things?

"Alistair, the Cousland way is to sow your oats and then marry for love," Rous said patiently shaking her head. "It's been like that for generations, it could almost be our family motto. How else do you think Fergus himself ended up espoused to an Antivan commoner?"

"I don't understand."

"I usually share everything with Fergus. He's the only one, well, one of the only ones, who doesn't judge me. But I didn't tell him about us. Whatever 'us' is." She paused. "Fergus and I can read each other like a book, especially when it comes to… love and such. Also Oswyn may have let something slip… So when he saw you and me sharing pleasantries…

"Why would he Fergus do that?"

"Put simply, Fergus likes to tease me, he always has. That changed after... Well, you know... He hasn't been the Fergus I knew for years and now suddenly he was himself again for a minute." She sighed, "He may also have been a little annoyed that I didn't confide in him and wanted to make me pay for it."

* * *

As they disappeared into the crowd, Fergus clasped a hand to his chest and made a strangled sound in his throat.

"Fergus, are you all right?" asked Oswyn.

"Oh, Maker…" he choked out.

Looking around, Oswyn grabbed Fergus and hustled him into a corridor outside the main hall. Once they were there, Fergus collapsed on his haunches, still making that choking sound, his forgotten wine glass falling to floor.

Oswyn squatted down to assist Fergus whose face had turned a mottled hue. The large bearded man suddenly grabbed him and they both nearly overbalanced.

There were tears streaming down Fergus's face, his eyes were scrunched up and suddenly Oswyn realised…

…Fergus was laughing.

Between wracking guffaws, Fergus was clawing at Oswyn, "Oh, Maker, oh, that little hussy! There's definitely something going on between them. He went pale and Rosy went red and…" Fergus chortled some more and then he suddenly stopped "Wait a minute… Os, you knew… You _knew_ and didn't tell me!" Fergus had met Oswyn socially a few times since he had escorted Rous home from the Summer's Eve party. They'd the occasional drink together and chatted about politics. Since he too was a victim of Howe's he was free from the suspicion with which Fergus viewed the others of his class.

Oswyn backed off slightly and waved off the concerned guard coming toward them. He dropped his voice. "Hang on right there, Fergus. I knew they had met a couple of times, nothing more. I had no idea about anything else."

Fergus grabbed the other man's doublet. "Truly?"

"_Truly_, Fergus" His calm blue gaze met Fergus's brown one. "Now let me go… Thank you." Oswyn stood up, straightened his clothing and then helped Fergus to his feet and straightened his.

Fergus exhaled, "There's something there. I could swear to it. Just that certain expression in Rosy's eyes when she looked at him, the _way_ she looked at him… I know my sister."

"And so?" It took temerity to probe further, but Oswyn felt that if there was going to be a problem, say if Fergus was going to make a scene, he needed to alert Alistair and Rous to it quickly.

"Who am I to tell her what she should do? Bloody hell, do I need a drink…" He looked at his empty hand and then at the shattered glass lying on floor. "Yes, _another one_. If she's got the slightest chance at happiness, let her grab at it with both hands. Life is short… So damned short…" He looked back at the remains of his goblet smashed to smithereens in a pool of Free Marches wine.

* * *

"I think we need to talk, Rous." Alistair said.

"About what?"

"About… things. You know…"

"Tell me," Rous prompted.

He opened his arms, spread his hands. "I'm not very good at this. Me. You."

"Talk then, Alistair."

He sighed. "Where can I even—?"

She pulled his face to hers and kissed him.

"That was very sweet," he said.

"Kisses first… Talk later…" Rous suggested

So Alistair had begun kissing her forehead. Then her eyelids. Then the tip of her nose and her cheeks. Then he had moved to her jaw, just under her left ear. Then down her neck to where it met her shoulder. Finally, he had gotten to her cleavage and was diligently planting a whole bouquet of kisses there…

He heard her earrings tinkled faintly as Rous responded to the kisses and stroked the back of his head. The more they tinkled the more she liked the kiss, he thought.

The door opened Lawler poked his head in. "'Scuse me. Sorry. _Again_… IQ, Alistair, coming this way."

Alistair froze his lips an inch from Rous's breasts. "Bugger."

"I who?" Asked Rous.

"Anora…" He paused. "Right, I'll head her off, Lawler look after Rous…"

Alistair dashed out of the room, leaving Lawler and Rous looking somewhat uncomfortably at each other for a moment.

Lawler looked over at Rous. "So… how are you this evening, Lady Cousland?"

"Well enough. Yourself?"

"Very well, thank you. Well, if he's managed to distract his wife, then I guess I'm going to have to escort you back to the main hall for the speeches and toasts"

"Agreed." She drifted across the room and proffered her arm. Lawler linked his with it and they left the chamber.

"So what does IQ stand for?" Rous asked.

Lawler heaved a sigh. "'Ice Queen,' actually."

Rous giggled, but quieted herself after a moment. "I should introduce you to my brother. You might get along. I last saw you at the drinking bout, right?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Richelle said you were very amusing."

"Did she? How is your cousin?"

"She's fine, but she's not here tonight. She belongs to the less noble more unassuming side of our family, but if you have a drop of our blood you're a Cousland and that's what counts for us: Family, not status…"

"Did it take you long to recover from that evening?"

"You mean from passing out through drinking too much?"

"Yes."

"I had a splitting head for about a day. Wretched malt."

"You two… I mean you and Alistair. You behave like guys would…"

"How come?" Lady C tilted her head, seemed interested.

"I mean all this roguishness, the witty remarks, the crudeness, the one-upmanship... It's as if you're competing against each other for something, but you're not. Not really…" Lawler glanced at her to see if she was following what he was saying. He thought she was, "It's just a substitute for…" He looked at her with his sharp eyes and the slightly lopsided smile and let the phrase hang.

She chose not to take the bait head-on. "I blame Fergus for that, you know. My only sibling. From when I could first walk, he would always spar with me at least once a day to keep me on form… In a puddle of mud if possible… I was about thirteen when it first struck me that not all girls spent part of their day fighting and most of their evenings wringing mud from their hair…"

They entered the great hall. "You're going to have to point Fergus out to me," Lawler said.

"He was wearing green, and he'll be somewhere towards the back." Rous peered around, looking for her brother.

They found him looking the worse for wear, looking somewhat out of sorts and abashed, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels overseen warily by Oswyn.

"Ah, Rosy, only you would leave the room on one handsome man's arm and return so shortly on another's."

"Shut it, Fergus or I'll enact _here_ what I have planned for you at home," Rous hissed in a fierce whisper. Lawler noted that Lady C could really put a threatening edge on her voice when she wished. Fergus, prudently, shut it.

Lawler grinned and offered her a quick bow. "Good evening, Lady Cousland." He nodded toward Fergus and Oswyn. "Your Lordship, Teyrn. Have a good evening." And then he turned and left them.

It was only once he took up his post watching out discreetly for Alistair and Anora that he realised that he too had forgotten to ask Lady C how she had gotten into a King's bedroom…

* * *

Alistair had grabbed Anora by the arm and steered her in a half circle so they were suddenly walking in the opposite direction.

"Alistair, where were you? It's nearly time for the toast and speech."

"Of course it is and that's where we're heading." They were going down the corridor towards the back of the building in order to go up the staircase that would take them to an elevated balcony at the front of the great hall from which they were to deliver the toast.

"Don't talk down to me as if I were one of your fancy women." Shaking off his hand, she turned toward him. "Be frank with me…"

Alistair took a step back and clasped his hands behind him. Deflection almost always worked on his wife. "Anora dearest," he began, knowing she hated him addressing her like that, and annoyance always helped to distract her. "One, I don't have 'fancy women,' as you call them and, two, even if I did I wouldn't talk down to them."

"You are an impossible man," she remarked disdainfully, picking up her skirts and following him up the staircase.

They arrived at the double door opening up onto the balcony.

"You, for a change, are doing the last part of the speech this evening, the final toast, the blessing of the year," Alistair reminded her, "Are you ready for it?"

In previous years, Anora had delivered the first part of the speech, welcoming friends and neighbours to their hearth after the long hard winter—by tradition, winter always had to be described as long and hard, even if it had been relatively mild—whereas Alistair had pronounced the latter part wishing everybody good luck and prosperity for the year in course. Although, again, this was in accordance with established tradition, the wife doing the welcoming and the husband delivering the blessing, this year they had both agreed to swap.

"Of course I am!" and she recited what she was going to say in a rush. Alistair really did annoy her sometimes so she often reacted to it, against her better judgment.

"Well, there you go…" Her sharpness never ceased to impress him. They were just very different personalities. "Do you wish to count?" They appraised each other's appearance very quickly, Anora fussing a bit about his hair, Alistair making sure the pendent of her pearl necklace was set perfectly to the front.

"One…" She said, they both adjusted their posture and the way they were standing and the way they hung on to each other and clasped the full wine glasses they had been passed.

"Two…" They assumed the right facial expression. Not too happy but not too serious either, eyes slightly wider than usual.

"Three… Deep breath… Here we go…" Anora said.

They stepped forward and the guards opened the double doors for them.

* * *

"Well, that was unconventional," said Fergus once Alistair rejoined them. "Which of you had the idea to swap around the speeches?"

"We both did, really. … I tend to get bored pretty quickly and Anora likes to challenge herself so we were of a mind…"" He was carefully avoiding looking directly at Rous. "Ahem, Fergus, Rous, changing the subject a little, I've recently bought some Antivan horses and now I need someone to teach me how to ride, I understand you both—"

"Rous was always a better rider than I," interrupted Fergus. "_And_ she has more patience." He paused. "I need _yet another_ drink… and a woman… Where are all the women?" He said muttering to himself walking away from them.

"Well…" said Alistair, watching him walk off with trailed by Oswyn.

"He's in his cups and angry," Rous said quietly. "At himself. And embarrassed and trying to make amends, I think." She turned and focused her full attention on Alistair. "Now, tell me all about these horses…"


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51**

Dragon 9:35

Pluritanis/Guardian

Denerim

[Present]

Fergus and Rous had established a pre-sleep routine from which they only deviated very rarely.

Three in the morning following the First Day party found them both sitting opposite each other over a wooden table in the still cosy kitchen of their Denerim residence. The servants had all been allowed the night off. Fergus had made them each a large steaming mug of warm goat's milk with a spoonful of honey.

Fergus put his hand over his mouth and yawned, "So little sister, the next to last Cousland is bonking the very last Therein, the one born the wrong, or was it the right? Side of the blanket… Cailan was a good guy but essentially a bit of a knucklehead—"

"You didn't always used to think like that about Cailan, Fergus. I recall you adored him, once upon a time, said he was your role model." Rous clutched her mug in both hands, tipped it up to her face, and drank.

Fergus cleared his throat, "Emphasise the _once_, Rosy, then I grew up…"

Rous objected, "Oh, c'mon it lasted several years at least. You even tried to walk and talk like him which was pretty funny. But it was for a long time, for a very long time until…" she paused and put the mug on the table. "No," She said, "No, no, no, no…" shaking her head with vehemence.

"What's on your mind? Tell me." Coaxed Fergus.

Rous leaned forward over her mug, "It just occurred to me… That all your Cailan worship came to a stop after he… stayed with us at Highever for five days…" She said slowly, half closing her eyes. "In the summer of 29…"

Fergus looked at her gravely.

Rous opened her eyes suddenly, "I didn't realise you knew…" She whispered.

"Rosy," Said Fergus also in a whisper, although strictly speaking they were quite alone so it was unnecessary, "Not everything is in the telling. Our whole family knew… Father was… not disappointed…"

Rous flinched, she had adored Bryce with every fibre of her being as only a daughter could adore a doting father, "No, not that… Upset, aggrieved. He thought Cailan had taken advantage of you. He wanted to confront him… I told him _I_ would deal with it. So that it would look simply like a squabble between two high-spirited young men rather than a full-blown conflict between our family and the King… I managed to convince Father, you know. I was very proud of that."

Rous pondered his words for a while. Her brother used the pause to finish his milk, finally, she said, "You know what, Fergus?"

"Yes, sweet sister…" Fergus replied in dulcet tones anticipating a stormy riposte.

"It was nobody's bloody business but Cailan's and mine!"

Fergus took that on chin and then smiled a very satisfied smile. "But it just felt so good to have a legitimate excuse to beat that arrogant prick up and warn him off… Soooooo good…"

Rous laughed and then snorted…

"Watch out love," said Fergus. "The milk nearly came out of your nose there…" Then Rous did choke so Fergus got up and thumped her between the shoulder blades until she recovered with an ungraceful splutter.

"Alistair is not Cailan." She said bluntly once they had both stopped laughing. "He actually refused to bed me… After I'd shown him…" Her hand strayed to her right breast.

Fergus took a breath suddenly furious. "Idiot!"

"No Fergus no, it's not like that, no, Andraste help me…" Rous reached out to him putting a hand on his arm and struggled to explain, "Alistair, _wanted_ me. That was very clear; we spent the night together but…"

"Rosy, you are not making any sense… I'm sober now, I think, and you're really not…"

"Fergus: We didn't actually _do_ the deed. Because he thought… I think he thought, I… Well, anyway, what we _did_ do is spend the night together in his bed. Him in his breeches and me in my shirt. We both kept our smallclothes _on_…"

Fergus leaned back, "Whew, Rosy, what can I say? That's a first for the Couslands… 'And here we have, ladies and gentlemen, a portrait of the ravishingly beautiful Rosaura Cousland… Madam at the back there… can you please take your child outside? The continuous flow of snot from his nose is _most_ distracting… Where was I? Oh yes, who is famous, of course, for going to bed with King Alistair of Ferelden _without_ bopping him…'"

"That's very funny…"

"It is when you think about it… What are you going to do, Rosy? Are you going to give him his riding lessons?"

"I am. Why not? Mainly because it sounds like fun. I miss riding and he said if I teach him he'll give me one of the horses."

"That's generous. Horses… it seems such a long time. We should get some ourselves. But is this, you, him, going anywhere?" He said stretching and yawning.

"Does it need to?" She suddenly looked tired.

"I guess only you can answer that really."

"I would agree."

"Just tell me next time… and be careful, he's the King, he's married…"

"There wasn't really that much to tell…" She emptied her own mug and then, seeing that he was about to protest, she said, "I know, I know."

"Keep me informed, Rosy," He scolded, "I'm your big bro' and I will always feel bound to look after you… When I am not teasing you mercilessly, of course. When's the first lesson?"

"Tomorrow morning. We agreed it should be early …"

Alistair greeted Rous with a chaste kiss on the forehead. Day had broken barely half an hour ago and they were both stifling yawns in the chill courtyard.

"Lets look at what you're wearing," she bent down and examined his breeches, her breath came out in a puff in the cold air, "OK they look tough." She pulled the cloth at his knee.

"What are you doing?" He asked sounding mildly curious.

"Just seeing if they're loose enough there to allow you to move your knees comfortably when riding. Boots… Seem alright but I would suggest you tuck your breeches into them" She said straightening up. "What about your doublet, it's not too tight around the shoulders, is it?" She ran her hand inside its collar in a wholly non-sexual way, "You've got to able to move your arms freely…" She was obviously all business this morning and a tad bossy. That helped.

Smiling at her, Alistair flexed his shoulders, shrugged several times backwards, and forwards, mildly aware that he was showing off. "Alright, alright." She said holding up a hand.

Then they moved on to the horses and with Eoin's and Jonah's assistance, they introduced them to her. Suddenly her detached stance was set aside, although she did not actually 'uh' and 'ah', she did talk to them quietly, tickled them, and stroked them, putting her head next to theirs. She asked Eoin a few questions to which he replied very precisely. Alistair found himself silently passing her apples and carrots that Eoin had thoughtfully begun to keep in sacks near the stables so she could feed them all a treat.

After she had been introduced to all ten Rous and Alistair stood in the centre of the yard. Her whole attitude had altered, there was a mellowed out, besotted expression on her face, she looked relaxed. Alistair felt like draping an arm over her shoulder and squeezing her but that would be inappropriate this morning, somehow, he felt. Therefore, he just whispered to her quietly putting his face close to hers, "I know how you feel… they make me feel like that too."

Rous looked grateful for this confidence and then she squared up and said to him, "So which one are you riding?"

Alistair made a quick gesture to Jonah, "Dusk." He said as Jonah led him out.

Rous frowned. "He's the stallion…"

"So you noticed." He said grinning.

"Ha bloody ha." Rous cast a glance at Eoin, "Has he told you about stallions?"

"Yes he has."

"How awkward they are, moody, temperamental, difficult to govern, impossible to use for a surprise attack…"

"Yep."

"And still you persist?"

"That's right."

"And here I was thinking Cailan was the fool and you were the clever one…"

Alistair grinned even wider and bowed slightly from the waist, "I am so sorry to disappoint you, Milady…"

Rous clipped him lightly over the ear. Alistair went, "Ow?"

"They whicker… Do you know what that is?"

"like neigh?"

"Yes, sort of, in the wild they call out to other horses… So the others know how fierce they are and that they are headed in their direction…"

"The more I hear, the more I like… Have you thought about your mount?"

Rous hesitated, "Well should I take the mare… That may cause problems with Dusk later on…"

"If you really wanted to take the mare, I could ride one of the geldings…" Said Alistair.

"That's generous of you." She said and Alistair shrugged, "But no. I see you're set on Dusk and I think I was going to choose one of the geldings, anyway."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

They walked quickly around the stalls again, "Yes. I'll have that one, the dark brown one."

"Fine, have you thought of a name… You don't have to choose what horse you would like to keep just yet, but if you can help me with naming them…"

"Not just yet." Rous paused while Jonah handed her a bridle and she went in to put it on the gelding. Then she asked, "What was Calenhad's horse called?" while she was fitting the gelding up.

"The one Bann Camenae of Waking Sea kindly killed from under him with a single arrow shot or the one that replaced it?" He asked from the stable door.

Rous frowned she had forgotten that part of the legend, "The replacement."

"That one was called 'Hope', the horse that died was 'Faith'. If one is to believe the Chantry and Brother Herren on the matter, Calenhad had a pious bent when it came to naming his horses… I studied history, with the Templars, you see. They were pretty hot on old Calenhad… So was I." He explained somewhat bashfully.

"Hope's a good name…" She said leading the horse out.

"I think so."

"Do you like Hope?" She asked the gelding stroking his mane, he whinnied gently. A good sign. "And Calenhad was from Highever." She added for Alistair's benefit.

He nodded and then said, "Let me show you the saddles Eoin and I dug up…"

For their first lesson Rous and Alistair stayed with the palace courtyard, they went through putting on a saddle, mounting, and the basics of a proper seat, making the horse walk, turn and stop and dismounting. After about two hours at the agreed end of the lesson and with horses re-stabled Rous asked him, "How many times a week do you want to do this?"

"At least five," Alistair replied.

"We in a hurry?" She asked.

"We are, actually," He said.

"Why?"

"I'll tell you soon…"

Rous shook her head "Always with the mystery, Alistair…"

He smiled looking boyish. "Hey, I need it to keep you interested in me… A man without mystery is like… Oh I don't know, I'm sure I'll think of something, but don't hold it against me…"

Rous nodded briefly, "Until tomorrow then."

"Yeah, until tomorrow."

Just over two weeks later and they had developed the habit of starting the lesson by riding east from the Royal Palace to Denerim dockside and then some distance south following the coast of the Amaranthine Sea and back again before Denerim really woke up and the streets became too busy and distracting for the horses.

They were enjoying their rides on the beach so much that Alistair was beginning to talk about setting up a small stable somewhere in the port so they could spend more time of some of the lessons on the Amaranthine coast cantering in the sea breeze.

Alistair was learning very quickly. He liked the horses, clearly enjoyed the lessons and was also driven by a practical need. As he pointed out to Rous, riding would cut his travel time in half and he liked to get out of Denerim fairly frequently. Rous also hoped that her teaching had contributed somewhat.

It was a grey morning, typical of Guardian and the Amaranthine to their left was a blend of dark greens and slate. There was quite a chill wind coming from the south and they were riding straight into it at a brisk trot. Rous had so far refused to teach Alistair to gallop because she insisted he needed to learn to do everything else well before learning that.

Rous was almost half a mile away when she realised he was no longer following. She steered Hope around gently and looked behind her. Alistair was sitting on the strand with Dusk capering next to him. She rode slowly back, her Hope's hoof marks being erased haphazardly by the waves as she went.

"My bum hurts…" He sulked, then a breaker sloshed under him, "And I'm wet…"

"Are you all right…" Rous asked.

He didn't answer directly, "Wretched beast…" He said looking askew at Dusk.

"You need to get up and reassure him…"

"Reassure… _him_?" He said his hazel eyes wide with incredulity.

"My countless years of practice." She said haughtily, "Tell me you need to get off of your arse, Sire, reassure Dusk and remount. _You_ understand what happened, he doesn't _he's_ worried. That's why _you_ have to do the reassuring."

"Very well." He grumbled and leaning on his arms hoisted himself up. His backside and breeches were sopping wet and plastered with moist sand. Rous had to bite her tongue to keep herself from laughing.

He limped over to Dusk and said, "C'm here you stupid beast." In a soft voice to which the stallion immediately responded. Alistair caught his bridle and spoke to him in an undertone gently caressing his muzzle and then patting his flank.

As she watched him do this Rous thought that despite everything that had happened to him, every role he had been compelled to play and duty he had undertaken, Alistair retained a vast reserve of tenderness and capacity for affection that must be inborn.

Sighing and with more deftness than she expected, Alistair held the reins with the right tightness just as she had taught him, grabbed the saddle pommel, caught the stirrup hooked his foot in to it and then with a small spring got himself back up into the saddle. He brought Dusk up to stand next to her.

"Well done." Rous murmured, "Your first real fall, you still live and you are back in the saddle in ten minutes."

"My backside is really going to ache later on… thanks to riding I've also recently discovered muscles in places I never thought I had them."

"Poor you."

He smiled looking ahead tasting brine on his lips. "You have no mercy, Rous…"

She ignored that. "Off we go then." And lightly tapping Hope's side with her feet she set off at a canter. Alistair followed.

"Since you are now formally my equestrian teacher, why don't you come for a ride cross country with me?" He suggested a little later.

Rous turned towards him slightly, the wind has grown stronger and her hair was whipping wildly about her face, her eyes were narrowed to avoid the spray, her cheeks glowed as if with fever, beaten by the blustery weather. She looked stunning. "Where will we be going..."

"South Reach or the Brecilian Forest, somewhere thereabouts, anyway. I have to pay a visit and bring someone back to Denerim. We could take a spare horse. I'd like to leave in about a weeks' time."

Rous sighed.

"Please. It will be a bit of an adventure, one of my escapades." Said Alistair attempting to sound cheeky, recalling how she always seemed quite keen to hear about his extra-curricular activities.

"Who will we be visiting and whom are we collecting?" she asked pointedly.

"I'll explain the first when we get going… As to the second, you'll find out when we get there. I think it will do us both good. By the way, this is not an attempt to seduce you… Not really..."

"Alas, I am broken-hearted." She said casting a disdainful glance in his direction.

"But I've noticed that unless we have something to do at hand… Like riding horses," He paused to catch his breath speaking into the wind was exhilarating but very tiring, "we're too busy pawing at each other to talk and we need to give ourselves a break, you obviously have things to tell and I would be privileged to hear them… As for me…"

"I need to make sure Fergus will be all right by himself first…" She said not making eye contact.

"I understand. I see the trip as an opportunity to talk and work things out between us."


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter 52**

Dragon 9:35 Nublis/Drakonis The West Road [Present]

They had set off at dawn. Rous on Hope and Alistair on Dusk. They had decided not to take a spare horse after all. Rous would have had to train it to pony and Alistair was in a rush, he had pointed out that in any event, since they were keeping to a main road they would not have to camp out in the open on the way. As soon as they had lost sight of the walls of Denerim from the West Road Alistair started to explain where they were going.

"The reason why I was not specific as to where we are going is because we are visiting the Izrail, Israfil or Azrail clan the transcription into Fereldan varies, I understand."

"A Dalish Elven clan you mean?"

"Exactly."

"I heard… I heard there was a clan that sent troops to the battle of Denerim…"

"Yes. They were members of this clan, their Keeper or leader is a mage called Lanaya. I've sent word ahead to her that we're coming. They will look out for us on the road and then escort us to their temporary camp in the forest when they see us. They never reveal their exact location to 'fast children' if they can possibly help it. I expect the camp to be at least a couple of miles from the road."

"And you have kept in touch with them." This was far more exciting than Rous had dared anticipate.

"Yes."

"How did they become your allies?" She asked with curiosity.

"You mean the companions' allies? You must never forget, Rous, that out leader was Neriya. I was just one of the companions. Basically we helped them with a problem and they pledged and gave us their assistance in exchange."

"What was the problem?"

Alistair explained the story of the Dalish and the werewolves.

"Elves, werewolves, talking trees and spirits of nature…" After he had finished the tale Rous looked at him her head tilted to one side.

"What can I say?" He said shrugging, "I was there, that is what happened… I am not asking you to believe me… Thinking back on it, I am certain the Maker favoured us in that part of our quest. We were able to lift the curse with relatively little bloodshed and reach a settlement that left both parties happy."

The west Road was quite busy by mid-morning mostly with travellers on foot clearly leaving or heading for Denerim and the odd ox cart. Their horses attracted quite a lot of attention and admiration. However, Fereldans being as they were, kept mostly to themselves and left them alone apart from bidding them good day even though Alistair got the distinct impression that the occasional trekker might have recognised him.

"My story is prosaic in comparison." Said Rous eventually.

"But I want to hear it nonetheless."

* * *

"Everyone knows now what happened at Highever… How my family and all the members of my household were slaughtered in a single night. I have little to add to that picture. I managed to get away because there was a secret passageway leading from a cellar that was unknown to Howe and his men. I made my way there through our holding with my mother. As you may know, she had a reputation for being an excellent archer and it happened that we fought well together. When finally we got to the cellar, we found my father covered in blood…"

Rous shook her head. "Apparently he had managed to drag himself there. By the time we found him he could no longer move, he was fatally injured, my mother took his head in her lap and refused to leave his side… They both told me to go, to go find Fergus, appeal to the King for justice, and avenge them.

"Live.

"I protested, I did, I suggested we should _all_ try to get out… They wouldn't hear of it, and in the end… I left them. I left them to Howe and his troops and saved my own skin… I was barely 22."

"I… It must have been extremely difficult for you. Leaving your parents like that…"

"I think about it every day, even when I don't want to. I've dreamt about it countless times. Sometimes, we all escape and are happy once more. Even Oriana and Oren are there… But most of the time it's just the same thing happening again and again… and there's nothing I can do about it…

"I suppose for all my bravado and arrogance, and I had a lot then, the main problem was dealing with being alone. So very alone and so suddenly. I had no real idea what to do or where to go. Fergus, of course, had ridden off to Ostagar… But where _was_ Ostagar? How did I get there? My mother, wise woman that she was, had ensured I picked up supplies, weapons and some coin as we made our way through Highever. If she hadn't I would have been in even a worse situation.

"I collected myself eventually, a very cold-blooded, practical side of me kicked in, and I realised should try to put distance between myself and the passageway exit. Preferably, I should attempt to make my way south to the North Road.

"Well fortunately they didn't chase me. I think it wasn't until late the next day when that bastard Howe had time to survey the dead that he had any inkling that I could be missing. By then I had made it to the road and bought passage with a carter who was heading west with some vegetables, beans, carrots and so forth for Kinloch Hold.

"You think riding a horse is painful. Try jolting along in an ox cart for about a week. By the time we got to the Tower of Mages, it felt as if all my joints had been displaced. My muscles ached… Still I had made good time and preserved energy, which was what I wanted.

"I was almost relieved to walk. _Almost_ relieved. It felt good to stretch my limbs at first. I skirted Lake Calenhad always aiming to go south, always following the road.

"I felt very vulnerable. I mostly hid when I thought anything would be a danger to me. I especially tried to avoid groups of men. I also saw what must be Darkspawn for the first time hugely ugly fearsome creatures.

"My aim then was to remain alive and get to Ostagar. Find Fergus and petition the King. Surely Cailan would listen to me if only for past times' sake if I reached him. As I put one foot in front of the other, I began to believe that this was possible, that things would sort themselves out… that the nightmare I had found myself in would come to an end.

"It took me just over two weeks walking to get to Ostagar.

"The signs as I approached were not good. The Imperial Highway that I was now on appeared to be damaged and scorched. Cadavers were frequent. They frightened me. I would scuttle past them as fast as I could, pretending they weren't there…

"I ignored what my intuition was telling me. The west wind brought the stench of death and decay to my nose but still I told myself that all was well, the battle must have taken place already. The showdown. Fergus would be alive. King Cailan would be victorious. The few surviving Darkspawn would have retreated to the gloomy abode from whence they had emerged in the first place.

"All would be well, all would be well, all would be well…

"That was what I was saying to myself like a prayer or a litany when I walked over the crest of the last hill and looked down at the valley below me.

"And I saw…

"Did you see the immediate aftermath of Ostagar, Alistair?"

"No." He replied in a hushed voice. His face looked ashen, "Neriya and I were both recovering from being wounded after lighting the fire in the Tower of Ishael. It was described to me… and we went back to the battlefield a few months afterwards… It was covered in snow by then. But not the immediate aftermath, no."

"It was like a field of flesh… There were tangles of sinews and limbs everywhere. Raw rotting meat strewn about the earth, wherever I looked. Mottled and discoloured, mounds of it… Just lying there… It was hard to believe that, not so long ago, those piles of offal had been living, moving, feeling beings… The smell was too awful for words… Sweet at first and then turning sickly, stale and putrid.

"I felt faint. I felt like turning away, going back down the hill and then walking back up again to see if anything had changed. But I knew that wouldn't work. So I went down.

"Up until then I had been able to tell myself, unconvincingly, that this was a Darkspawn rout that Ferelden had prevailed. But as a I drew nearer there could be no doubt. Most of the eyeless, gape-mouthed, sunken-cheeked, sallow corpses were unmistakably human.

"Worse than anything was the thought that that one of those twisted bodies had once been my brother Fergus but there were so many, I did not have a hope of finding him.

"I tried though…

"A month ago, barely a month ago, I had been eating off china plates, entertaining casual lovers in my bed chamber, surrounded by a doting, caring family, never wanting for suitors or friends.

"Now as it occurred to me that Fergus would want me to live, I found myself overturning rotting cadavers, looking for him but also plundering the dead as I went, a soiled rag tied over my mouth and nose in an attempt to reduce the stench and to keep off the flies; routing among maggots and putrefaction, looking for clothes, weapons, money anything that would help me survive.

"Utterly alone."

They trotted in silence for half a mile or so and then Rous said in a strangled voice, "I can't carry on talking about this today. Just recalling it all is making me feel sick."

"That's understandable."

"Thanks for listening."

After a further ten minutes Rous said, "Talk to me Alistair. Distract me. Tell me something about yourself…"

Alistair sat up a bit straighter in his saddle and ran a hand through is hair, his eyes glinted. "This is a secret…" He said.

"Ah the man of mystery returns…," remarked Rous.

Alistair smiled faintly at her. "My mother was an Elf."

"What?" said Rous

"An Elf. A mage. An Orleisian. A Grey Warden." He said taking some care to enunciate the words very clearly, in order to make himself understood. It felt good to let it all tumble out at once like that.

Rous looked suitably taken aback. She suddenly seemed to be examining him carefully as if to detect any external traces of Elven ancestry. "I thought she… Rumour has it she was a serving wench in Redcliffe. A human."

"Until very recently that's what I thought, too."

* * *

"…so I was conceived in Orzammar." He concluded. "I cannot imagine how anyone could… Well, you know, down there. In the Deep Roads, I mean. Orzammar, the city is actually quite a nice place. But the Deep Roads, I've been there twice now, they're filthy, the dust gets everywhere, your hair, your eyes, and dangerous… when they're not as creepy as hell, of course."

"They must have been desperate. A King and a mage… That is very romantic."

"I believe so, they must have thought they were going to die, so, who gives a toss… And, yes, it is."

"'End of the world sex.'" Summed up Rous.

"That's right," He concurred, "'end of the world sex.'"

There was a slight pause. "Have you ever done that?" She asked curiously.

Alistair hesitated. It was a direct question. This was not something he had planned on revealing to Rous at this early stage of getting to know each other, he hoped he could escape for the time being without having to disclose too much detail, but he refused to lie. "Uh… Sort of, actually… And you?"

"Yes." She said, "This is turning out to be quite a journey…"

"I told you it would be worth your while."

* * *

"Nothing quite like a traditional Ferelden meal" said Alistair running his wooden spoon through the unidentifiable greyish/green gloop on his dish. They had stopped to spend the night in a tavern a few miles past Dragon's Peak.

"I've eaten worse than this before…" Said Rous.

"Oh, so have I, unfortunately it tended to be my own cooking…"

"At least the beer's good."

"The beer _is_ good."

"I thought you were more into wine."

"Wine, beer, it's all good in its own way."

"You need a re-fill, so do I." Without asking him, she picked up their tankards, sauntered over to the bar, and put her elbows on it. She was somewhat aware that Alistair's eyes were following her across the plank floor.

"Hey pretty…" Said a guy standing next to her. "Haven't seen you around here before 'cause I'd remember if I had. I likes me a hot touch of ginger…"

He wasn't unattractive; he had medium-length wavy brown hair, a moustache and a straggly van dyke. He reminded her a bit of Bann Teagan, with whom she'd had a few pleasant conversations over the last year at the odd meeting or party. The Bann of Rainesfere was always so extremely solicitous and careful in her presence that she wondered exactly how much he knew of what had happened to her. Teagan simply wasn't her type, but she could well understand the frisson he caused in other ladies.

As for this young man, he was at least some fifteen years younger than Teagan and probably at least five years younger than she and far, far dimmer. He was grinning at her inanely. Rous was pretty certain the dapper Bann would have better-polished pick-up lines… She smiled at the guy briefly and then pointedly ignored him.

"…and you're looking really sizzling in leather an' all."

"Sorry," she said, "But I'm with someone…"

"Ach," He said glancing over to the corner where Alistair sat, "But _I_ could give you such a good time…"

"Two more, please." She said to the Innkeeper who at last seemed willing to serve her, thrusting the empty tankards towards him. "Think he can't?" She said to the pest from the corner of her mouth. "Think again."

"Problem?" asked Alistair slightly arching his eyebrows when she came back with the ale.

"Not anything I couldn't handle…" Said Rous casting her eyes back at the guy, who when he saw she was looking at him, smiled and raised his tankard to her. "Says he fancies redheads. I told him I was with someone…"

"I really like it when people don't recognise me…" Commented Alistair, "_Real_ things happen…"

"If by that you mean inopportune arseholes in taverns," Said Rous, "Then yes, they're real enough… Unfortunately."

Even though it was quite early, they decided to go to bed shortly after drinking their beers. Being on the road, even on horseback was pretty tiring. They crossed the main barroom floor to get to the stairs leading to their bedroom.

As they walked past him, the pest clicked his tongue audibly. _How much of an idiot could the guy be? _Thought Rous. _Couldn't he see Alistair's bulk?_

"I do like a redhead." He said.

Without being able to help herself, Rous stopped and glared at him. She felt Alistair come to a halt behind her. Suddenly a large hand landed gently on her shoulder.

She looked back and up at Alistair. He was smiling genially at the pain in the neck. "So do I." He said. "But you are going to have to find your own woman, friend. This one's mine and she's taken." Rous was wholly unprepared for the surge of warmth that lanced through her in response to these words.

The pest sighed and shook his head. "C'mon." Said Alistair quietly. When they got up to their room he said, "Gosh, I loved that…"

"You've never fought over a woman before…" said Rous.

"Nope." Said Alistair. "Not even argued. Didn't know what I was missing."

Rous laughed.

"Now what happens?" Asked Alistair opening his arms. "Do I stake my claim to this good-looking, flame-haired beauty by taking her in my arms and making her mine for all the world to hear…? It's bloody tempting…" He glanced at the bed and then back at Rous. "Somehow I don't think _that_ would withstand my passion and ardour…"

Rous turned, he had a point, the double bed did look rather rickety. She sat on it and it creaked ominously.

"I'll take the floor." Said Alistair, suddenly all continent resolve.

"Alistair…" Said Rous, "At the very least kiss me dammit!" she said as she passed him one of the pillows.

He rolled his eyes at her, "Do I really have to?" He replied teasingly.

However, a little later, while they were both in their smallclothes he got on to his knees in front of her as she sat on the edge of the bed and suggested, "Why don't _you_ kiss _me_?"

Rous wrapped her arms around his neck and put her mouth to his and kissed him until his eyes had turned a confused, smouldering amber. Then she nipped his earlobe quickly and in her very best purry voice described to him some of the things she was going to do to him as soon as he let her.

Finally when he begged her to let him go because if she didn't he was going to burst and no longer be responsible for his actions, she released him from her arms and stroking the back of his head one last time, kissed him on the forehead and bade him good night.


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter 53**

Dragon 9:35

Nublis/Drakonis

The West Road

[Present]

They set off again very shortly after dawn the next day. "I should tell you the rest," Said Rous, "since I started."

"Only if you're sure. I was asking myself whether retelling such things actually did more harm than good." Alistair glanced at the sky; he hoped it wasn't going to rain.

"Fergus knows all this, of course. Oswyn some. Actually, it was good to talk to Oswyn; there is an understanding between us…"

"After Ostagar, I walked east for a further week and found myself at Lothering.

Ser Maron

"I remember looking down from the Imperial Highway at the village and seeing it deserted. I walked into it and then noticed that an armoured man was slumped in the lookout chair several yards above my head. From what I could see he seemed to be wearing Templar armour but I thought he must he dead, he was not moving. I could see no-one else. I went straight past the Chantry and crossed a bridge. I had been angry with the Maker for several days at that point and in any event was wholly lacking in the serene state of mind to undertake meaningful prayer.

"I headed instead straight to the tavern. I needed a drink. As I pushed the door open it did not occur to me that, it was strange that although Lothering was deserted all the buildings appeared to be intact. I entered the tavern. There was a large blond man sitting nursing tankard at one of the tables. I went past him and he did not as much as blink. There was another large man behind the bar with dark hair pale blue eyes an oval face and what appeared to be a several day's beard growth so I walked up to him.

"The barkeep, for such I thought he was, took a good look at me with some amazement. Then he said quite politely, 'If you are not some kind of demon come to take my soul, is there anything this humble Templar can do to help you?'

'I am no demon.' I said surprised.

'But if you were…' He reasoned, 'Wouldn't you say just that?' He paused and looked me over again. 'Ruiseart, help me out here, do you think she's a demon?' I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He seemed pretty far-gone.

"The blond one was very slow to turn his eyes to me.

'Is she even real?' He asked eventually.

"The Templar behind the bar reached out his hand and stroked my jaw with his thumb. 'She appears to be… A bit grubby, though.' He added as an afterthought. I prised his hand away. He did not seem annoyed.

"The blond one shrugged as if he had reached the limit of his wits, 'I dunno, Maron, demonology was never my strongest subject… Ask the Revered Mother…'

'Ruiseart,' Said Maron, 'We sent the Revered Mother and most of the novices away the day before yesterday. Don't you remember?'

"Ruiseart gazed fixedly at his tankard and grunted. 'I thought it was strange that that awful woman wasn't nagging me for just having a drink…' He burped and his whole body sagged.

"Ser Maron shrugged his shoulders.

'Can you—' I asked.

'How did you get past Berold?' He interrupted me.

'Berold?'

'Yes he was supposed to be on lookout…'

'I thought he was dead,' I said.

"Ser Maron cursed loudly. This seemed to rouse Ruiseart who had nodded off.

'Ber…? Oh, I may have given him a little something…' Ruiseart said. 'Who cares anyway?'

'I bloody do!' Ser Maron erupted, 'I'd like some prior notification of when I'm about to die, thank you very much, even if it's just to arm myself and commend my soul to the Maker!'

"But Ruiseart appeared to have fallen asleep again or was pretending he had.

'Now—' I said to Ser Maron.

"Suddenly Ser Maron was holding a dagger to my throat, it was almost as sharp as his piercing blue eyes. 'Recite something from the Chant of Light…' He commanded.

'Although I am an Andrastian I'd never paid much attention to the formalities of my religion. It was an extremely bad moment for my mind to go blank, but go blank it did. I recall thinking how disappointed our chaplain Mother Mololl would be with me… I could see the frown on her pretty face in my mind's eye.

"To survive all I had survived and then to die because some intoxicated, dull-witted Templar had got it into his head that I was a demon, all because I couldn't recall some idiot verses…

"It was not the right thing to do but I laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all.

"Ser Maron said, 'Demon, you die here…'

'By Andraste's mercy, if I'm a demon how are you going to kill me with just a dagger?' I was practically screaming. And then the words came tumbling out. '_The one who repents, who has faith/ Unshaken by the darkness of the world/ She shall know true peace._'i

"Ser Maron inhaled, his nostrils dilating and he removed the knife from my throat.

'Please…' I all but collapsed face down on the bar, 'Give me a drink…'

"Without saying a word, he turned round, uncorked a bottle, poured a generous shot into a clay cup and banged it down on the bar in front of my nose.

'I apologise.' He said later. 'I should have realised you were no demon when I noticed your face was dirty…'

"By then he had explained that the Templars had carried out an enforced evacuation of the village a few days ago in which they were much aided by the dire news that reached them from Ostagar. I told him I had come from there and described a little of what I had seen.

'So it's true we lost?' Ser Maron asked me for the umpteenth time.

'We lost.' I said yet again.

"Although I was not unaccustomed to alcohol only rarely had I gotten drunk before. I was sitting opposite him at one of the wooden tables, several bottles between us and our cups.

"Ser Ruiseart, who was virtually comatose had slipped from his chair to the floor and was snoring loudly a few yards away.

'Why are you staying?' I asked.

'We're going to try to hold them back…' Ser Maron shrugged, 'or at least slow them down…'

'But that is futile,' I said. 'You are all going to die.'

'That may well be,' said Ser Maron, 'but it is our duty.'

'Aren't you afraid?' I asked.

'I would be a fool if I wasn't.' He replied. 'What are _you_ doing here?' he then asked.

'I was looking for my brother… I was going to...' I swallowed my drink quickly. Ser Maron poured us both another one.

'You were saying?' He asked.

'It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now, I think.' I said.

'All I really have is the Chantry. I was either a foundling or the child of a mage. I have never particularly cared to find out which. The only brothers I have ever had are here now with me. Ruiseart and the others.' He said looking towards his sleeping comrade. 'This is what I must do. This is what I was trained to do. To protect the Chantry and the Maker's children above all else.'

"He took another drink.

'Is there nothing you will miss? Nothing you regret?' I asked him.

'I like a good drink as much as the next man. Lyrium was always helpful, it made me feel powerful and strong, it helped me sleep too, but our lyrium supply ran out days ago, and then there were women….'

"I hesitated. 'Women?' I asked eventually.

'Yes, from time to time.' He was staring at me intently now I noticed.

"For a moment, I did not know what to say. I considered what I have been through this last month. I then thought about what lay ahead of me. My parents, my brother, my friends, even my casual lover, Dairren, and Mabari hound, all gone. I sighed.

'Is there anything I can do for you?' I asked him.

"He looked away. Quite purposely, I put my hand over his as it lay on the table. He flushed.

'You don't need to feel sorry for me he said.'

'I don't,' I said, 'I just feel lonely. I have lost everything I valued. Everything that helped me make sense of life.' As I said this, I realised that he was first living being I had touched in over a month.

"We were both quite drunk by this stage, quite maudlin.

"He extended his hand and ran his finger over my jaw again. 'Would you…'

'Yes.' I replied.

'You're quick' he said, 'but you didn't know what I was going to ask.' His thumb moved to my lips.

'Yes I did.'

"He tilted his head to one side. Then he looked over at where Ruiseart lay and seemed to make up his mind. 'Let's go upstairs' he said. Picking up the bottle and our cups.

"I must have looked surprised. 'There are rooms up there,' he said.

"I followed him.

"He collected a bunch of keys from behind the bar. Then we ascended the staircase. He quickly chose a room and opened the door. We went in.

"He proceeded to light some of the lamps. 'You might want to wash,' he said, 'I should have thought of that before, I will get you some water.' He returned soon afterwards with a basin full of water and several washcloths and gestured towards another door.

I nodded and after glancing quickly at the bed went in to the other room carrying the basin. I removed my leathers picked up the washcloth and scrubbed myself over very quickly taking especial care to remove all dirt from my face.

"When I returned to the bedroom Ser Maron was pacing nervously up and down having left the bottle and the cups on a side table.

"We were very civilised at first, we put our arms around each other, kissed, but then desperation or urgency took over and before long we were tussling like overheated adolescents on the bed.

"We paused to catch our breath. Then he kissed me again. We were more careful of each other this time.

"Halfway through he stopped and looked at me, there was a puzzled expression on his face. 'You are better at this than I.' He said sounding surprised. I laughed. 'Who are you?' He asked.

'I am Lady Rosaura Cousland of Highever.' I said grandiloquently.

'As if…' Said Ser Maron.

'I am whoever you want me to be.' I said toying with an amulet on a leather thong that lay around his neck. He still looked concerned. I tried again. 'I am a fugitive, a refugee, like everybody else.' He seemed happier with that.

"It was clear that he wanted to experiment, try out new things, we entertained ourselves for several hours… I… Alistair… I am sorry, I did not think…"

"So you made love to a Templar in Lothering." He summarized looking straight ahead; his hands were entwined tightly in Dusk's bridle Rous noticed.

"I did."

"And you are an Andrastian…"

"I am."

"I think I would prefer to dwell on the second thing rather than on the first, even though it might be less important to your story overall."

Rous put her hand on his, "Remember what I taught you…"

"Oh yes." He said loosening the reins immediately and leaning forward to pat Dusk on the neck.

"Contrary to popular belief, most Templars are not virgins." Alistair remarked, "Chastity, not celibacy, is the requirement but at least half do not even abide by that… As you know." Rous thought she detected something slightly censorious of his former comrades in his tone or was it disenchantment?

"But _you_ were, weren't you? A virgin, I mean, when you left the Chantry." Rous guessed.

He blushed slightly. "I _was_… until Neriya."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-two."

"A late starter, why?"

He hesitated, and then mumbled something she didn't quite catch. "What?"

"I think I was a little afraid of women…"

"You? Afraid?"

"Well, when I hit my teens, I realised I… Well that I liked women, but I didn't really _know_ any… Any at all… There was _that_ woman, Isolde, of course, Eamon's wife my _'belle mére'_. She called me within my hearing _'le petit bâtard'_ and _'le petit idiot'_, because she thought I was so stupid I couldn't even understand… But a child recognises the tone and will eventually pick up the words. I remember when Eamon introduced her to me when I was ten or eleven or so, he told me she would be the mother I never had; she was standing behind him scowling… and I recall thinking 'I don't think so.'

"There was cook and the servants, but they were always too busy to take an interest in me… Later there were the Revered Mothers but the Chantry ensured that most of them were bitter nature… The guys, my fellow Templars in training, talked incessantly about women, naturally, and that somehow made them even scarier. I listened eagerly, of course, but I never had anything to contribute and sometimes I would be teased for that, but it was nothing that I couldn't handle either with humour or a quick bout of fisticuffs behind the privies."

He flashed a smile at Rous, "Intercourse... sounded… absolutely terrifying… quite apart from the threat of lightning…"

"Lightning?" Rous asked.

"Lightning. In their wisdom, the Revered Mothers assured us that we would be struck dead by lightning if we indulged our carnal impulses. Needless to say, it wasn't true."

Rous shook her head, "I really can't imagine what that must be like… Growing up in isolation from the opposite sex. And having those foolish ideas foisted upon you… Fergus, Ser Gilmore –I don't think I've mentioned him— they were my main playmates… They'd been around my whole life. I knew what little boys were made from a very young age… How they thought too…"

"Slugs and snails and puppy dog tails…" Recited Alistair and laughed.

"Pretty much. That is as good a summing up as any." She pulled out a water canteen from her saddlebag, took a quick drink and passed it to Alistair. "Should I continue?" she asked as she was tucking it away.

He snorted. "Of course you should. I need to grow up. This was all long before we met… So whatever I may feel is to a certain extent, irrelevant."

Rous nodded.

"Ser Maron seemed very appreciative. I've never really understood why men, especially good men, feel so much gratitude after making love; most of the time their partner is as willing as they and has got out of it as much as they have, but in any event he was and he asked me if there was anything, he could do for me.

"I had been thinking things over for a while by then… We had given ourselves time to relax; perhaps we had even fallen asleep. I can't quite recall. But in any event, I replied that there was.

"I told him I wanted to stay and fight with the Templars.

"As I expected, he was disturbed by this, his jaw clenched somewhat. I could see immediately that it had given him pause, but I was very grateful that he did not simply reject my request out of hand.

'But you yourself recognised that resisting the hoard means death…'

'Yes.' I replied, 'but I am tired of striving to find something for which to live. Believe me or not in these last few weeks, I have lost my entire family… My family was my life. I have nothing.'

'You are too beautiful for such a death.' He muttered.

'As if beauty had anything to do with it!' I exclaimed, 'Everything passes, even beauty, especially beauty…'

'Well, yes,' he said, 'but still…'

'Is it because you think I can't fight? I can you know… I'll show you…' I was stark naked but still jumped off the bed.

'Please.' He said, 'I don't doubt you—'

'Rous.'

'Rous. Just give me a moment.' He turned over and looked at the ceiling covering his eyes with a hand. 'Rous. You have been as kind to me as anyone in my life ever has…'

'—' I opened my mouth to retort.

'For the Maker's sake let me finish, woman! I am just a humble Templar and slower than you… But I have another favour to ask of you, a task, if you will…'

"He got up and started to pull on his clothing. He gestured for me to do the same and out of respect for him, I did.

"We left the room on our way down the staircase to the tavern main ground floor we encountered two figures caught tight in a passionate embrace. The taller larger one was obviously a Templar, the second figure was wearing an orange and gold novice's robe, the light from the tavern was dim on the stairway but as I went past them I noticed that they were both male.

"Ser Maron who was following me stopped for a moment I was worried that some argument or even a fight was about to break out but there was only a quiet whispered exchange and a slight metallic sound which later I realised may have been the bunch of keys changing hands.

"When he followed me down Ser Maron was shaking his head, 'Seoras was always somewhat different,' He said, 'But a fearsome warrior still.' As we exited the tavern, I noticed that it was empty and Ser Ruiseart was no longer there.

"We crossed the bridge and headed for the Chantry.

"Ser Maron heaved open the heavy oaken door. It was dimly lit inside. Incense was burning. On one of the last pews, I noticed Ser Ruiseart. He was on his knees and his head was bent in prayer.

"A large Templar, partially dressed in armour, with skin darkened by the elements and long black plaited hair was reading from the Chart of Light. Whereas his voice did not have the singsong cadence usually developed by Revered Mothers, it was full of restrained power and dignity. There was no doubt in my mind that he believed every single word he was reading. It was strange and haunting to hear those lingering versus intoned by such a masculine voice.

"Ser Maron turned to me, 'Our Captain Ser Bryant.'

"We went quietly to the back of the chapel. From here, it was apparent to me that most of the Templars were now following the service. There were many wide- shouldered bodies kneeling devoutly in the pews.

"It may have been my imagination but at one point I was sure Ser Bryant raised his dark eyes from the text of the Chant and glanced at me. I suddenly felt self-conscious and out of place, it was as though my thoughts had become transparent. I was convinced Ser Bryant was aware of what had been happened between Ser Maron and me. Nevertheless, he smiled at me. A smile full of serenity and welcome.

"Ser Maron approached a much smaller figure that hitherto I had not noticed. He bent over it and quiet words were obviously exchanged. As they came up to me, I saw the person following him was a small blonde woman dressed in the robes of a novice.

"Turning to her Ser Maron said, 'Charbelle, this is Rous. Rous will be taking you to Denerim on Balin's cart.'

"The girl for she was little more than that, turned her blue eyes to me. 'Surely, Charbelle you will not now refuse to go to Denerim with another woman. Rous is strong and an able fighter, she will be able to defend you should anything happen.'

"I admit I was furious at being placed in this position, my face went rigid and my hands were both clenched into fists. Ser Maron glanced quickly down and had undoubtedly seen them. He put his hand on my shoulder, 'Rous let's go outside.'

"Under the stars he turned to me and said, 'Rous she's my sister I do not know or care whether we share the same blood but we were taken to Redcliffe Chantry on the same day and have grown up together. She's just a small girl, Rous, innocent as sunlight, yet she refuses to leave. Think what the Darkspawn will do to her…'

"I did. I thought about the corpses I had seen, and these were fighters I reminded myself, and felt my anger begin to ebb away.

"Ser Maron did not hesitate to press home his advantage, 'I know you have lost your brother whom you obviously loved very much, but imagine if he could have been saved through the goodwill of a stranger… As I have told you before, you have already done more for me than most other people, but please Rous, please escort my sister to Denerim Chantry. I can give you some money but apart from that if you do this for me, I will bless you and your brother my final breath. By Andraste's virtue you have my word on that.'

"I bowed my head. What could I do but accede to his request? 'You have me,' I replied, 'I agree, but give all your money to Charbelle, no doubt I shall make my own way. And spend your last breath on something worthier.'

"Suddenly Ser Maron wrapped his arms around me and buried his face on my shoulder, for a brief moment I thought this was a fresh attempt to renew our intimacy and then I realised he was crying.

i Canticle of Transfigurations 10:1, p 406 TC.


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter 54**

Dragon 9:35 Nublis/Drakonis The West Road [Present]

"Following my conversation with Ser Maron I went back into the Chantry while Charbelle made her preparations to leave. As I have said, I am not an especially devout person but the Templars' improvised service and Ser Bryant's rich, deep voice moved me like no other has since… Ser Maron had to shake me pretty hard to awaken me from my reverie.

"Our farewells on the doorstep of the Chantry and in the chill night were very tearful. Especially as between Ser Maron and Charbelle. I almost felt like an intruder. However, Ser Maron as a final flourish produced a large woollen Templar's cloak and draped it around my shoulders. In the circumstances, it was one of the most useful gifts I have ever received. I keep that cloak in Highever to this day, stained, worn and moth-eaten though it may be through four years' usage. He kissed me on the cheek and told me to stay safe.

"Barlin I must say I didn't care for overmuch. He seemed self-centred and somewhat stingy but sweet-tempered Charbelle spent much of that night weeping in my arms and asking me to assure her that the Templars would be secure. An assurance I could not give.

"I woke the following day when the cart gave a particularly nasty jolt. I was not aware I had fallen asleep. On looking to the west, I saw a large column of smoke; I jumped off the cart and ran to the edge of the highway where shortly Charbelle joined me. We were both crying, too stunned to even embrace, Barlin cursed us and said that if we did not get back onto the cart he would leave us for the horde…

"There is not much else to tell on that, everybody was mostly fleeing in the same direction even the bandits, mercenaries and highwaymen it would seem.

"At one point Charbelle asked me innocently if it was true that I was really Lady Cousland because apparently Ser Maron had assured her I was. I suspected that this was another ruse on the Templar's part to convince her to travel with me. I denied it of course, but I could see she didn't quite believe me.

"Barlin scoffed at the question and said that I was just a passing wench who had dropped her knickers for a Templar, Charbelle looked mortified; that remark earned him a slap across the ears, although, in essence, it was probably the truth.

"When I dropped Charbelle off at Denerim Chantry she stood on tiptoe and put her arms around me and told me that we would be sisters forever and that one day she would help me as I had helped her and Maron. I made a good effort, I think, to suppress my scepticism.

"Barlin headed to the market district where he was going to stay with a cousin with barely a nod to me.

"Pulling up the hood of my new cape, I made haste to the poorest quarters where it was unlikely I would bump by chance into anyone I knew.

* * *

"That was my first and last experience of 'end of the world sex', Alistair. It was quite an exhilarating one."

Alistair was silent for a fair while, "Perhaps you should write that down one day, Rous," He said.

"And how would I sign it Alistair: 'As narrated by a wench who dropped her knickers for a Templar'?" For reasons she could not properly identify, Rous was suddenly furious. She tapped her heels against Hope and rode ahead.

Alistair promptly caught up with her, his horsemanship was improving by the day Rous thought, "You were mocking me, mocking me Alistair…," she complained.

"That's unwarranted, Rous… I did not intend to offend you, I was serious… Slow down and listen to me…" He reached for her bridle.

Rous slowed down. "What I meant was that no-one will otherwise recall those Templars, they gave their lives… for their fellow citizens, for those weaker than they… They deserve…" He paused for breath, "To be remembered."

* * *

"To be remembered." Echoed Rous some three hours later.

"Yes." Said Alistair "I wasn't mocking you…"

They were in a fairly comfortable, if simple, bedroom eating supper. The Innkeeper's wife had recognised Alistair and nearly fainted in her homely clogs. An offer of supper in their room had followed and been graciously accepted.

"Does that mean something to you, 'to be remembered'?

"Yes it does… I guess I will be remembered now, even if it is as the bastard wastrel king…" He smiled lopsidedly, "But not so long ago… I had no one. When Neriya saw me in the Fade… Hmm, that requires some explanation… At one point in our quest our party was mesmerised by a demon, each of us was trapped in his or her own dream that we thought was real. Each that was except for Neriya…"

Alistair looked down at his hands either side of his dish of roast rabbit with herbs. The Innkeeper's wife had excelled herself. He needed to remember to thank her tomorrow before their departure.

"Neriya who then had to rouse us and bring us back to reality. That's the sort of thing Neriya, Maker bless her, could do without even thinking about it… Well, anyway, in my dream I had a family of sorts, I was living with a woman whom I thought was my half-sister and her children… I told Neriya that I didn't want to return, I didn't want to spend all my life fighting only to end up dead in a pit full of rotting Darkspawn corpses…

"Not many Templars have families, neither do Grey Wardens, they live, they fight, they die and no-one mourns them usually. Perhaps a few of their brothers and sisters in arms might have a piss-up in their name, if they're lucky, but that's it. Gone, as if they never were in the first place… I like fighting, it's one of the things I was made for, but I always found that final fate difficult to accept."

"You want to be loved."

"That's trite, who doesn't want to be loved? We all do, don't we? No it was a little more than that, I wanted, WANT to be mourned… I want someone who loved me to _miss_ me. There, I said it. Absolutely selfish."

Rous picked at her meal she seemed to be thinking things over.

"And Rous?"

"Yes Alistair?"

"I've come to a determination."

Rous looked at him expectantly.

"Rous, I won't make love to you until you know what you need to know about me… Then you can make up your own mind. That's only fair. And tomorrow… Oh Maker, don't hold it against me but there are things that it is much easier to show you than to explain…"

"But we can still kiss?" She said with some eagerness.

"Yes, we can kiss but… Not too much, otherwise it gets difficult…"

"And we can put our arms round each other."

"Yes, again…"

"Then we share the bed tonight."

"As you say… But…"

"In our undergarments." She added like a good girl. Alistair wasn't entirely sure he was convinced.

"Yes."

Rous seemed happy with those replies and started to eat her rabbit with some zest. "Alistair…" she said eventually.

"Yes, Rous?"

"Life is short." She said looking up.

"It is, but I may have used that excuse a little too often… I've worn it out by now. And there are still things you do not know about me."

"Tell me then…"

Alistair thought about that awhile, resting his chin on one hand while drumming the fingers of the other on the wood of the table.

Rous polished off the remainder of the sauce from the rabbit with a chunk of bread. Alistair guessed that eating everything that was put in front of her was a habit that she had acquired during the Blight. He used to do the same.

Alistair made up his mind. He rummaged inside his shirt for a moment and pulled out an amulet. "See here." He said holding it up to the light.

It seemed to be a tiny vial full of a liquid rust-coloured substance. "Hold it." He said.

She did and looking at his face curled her hand protectively around it as if she liked the feel of it.

"What is it?" She asked.

"My Grey Warden amulet."

"It looks like blood…" She said unfurling her hand.

"It is. Darkspawn blood and some other substances… Don't exactly know what, possibly some lyrium…"

Rous released the amulet immediately and wiped her hand on her clothing. Alistair laughed crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, well…" He said, he was amused; he'd noticed Rous was not the kind of woman who was easily repelled by anything.

"I hate Darkspawn, can't abide them…" She explained.

"Remind me then never to invite you to a joining."

"A joining?"

"The initiation into the Wardens. It involves drinking Darkspawn blood; many die, about one in three."

"But that is—" For once words failed Rous.

"As it is." Alistair cut in.

"And you did that willingly?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"I wished to leave the Chantry. Wardens were needed to address a possible Blight. Neriya also underwent it." He tried to sound distanced and practical.

Rous shook her head. "I had no idea, no idea at all…"

"Not many people know. I trust you to keep this in confidence, Rous."

"I… But surely there must be consequences…" She faltered.

"There are."

Rous apparently gathered herself. "So tell me, Alistair."

He looked at her steadily, he thought she winced slightly. He said, "You get nightmares, especially when the Darkspawn are nearby or particularly active… Your appetite increases, insofar as I know _all_ appetites increase…"

He studied her face with some care, she looked solemn. "It affects your fertility… It shortens your life. First, you may become overwhelmed by hallucinations, then, so I am told, it can actually start to affect you physically… Basically, we are tainted… a sort of slowly progressing taint… It's not contagious, by the way…"

"Alistair…" Rous's voice faltered, she seemed overcome with all the information he had given her.

"Yes, Rous?"

"How could you…" There was a tinge of reproach in her tone.

"As I said."

"I heard what you said, but, I… I really don't… You seem so full of life… So… Vibrant." Alistair smiled flattered at this description of himself and Rous paused again. "I'm a little angry with you, I think… That you did this to yourself…"

He tried to put it reasonably. "I've explained why, in the circumstances I saw it as my duty as a loyal Fereldan. Still do. But if I hadn't it's unlikely we would have ever met, isn't it? Anyway, I've told you something about me this evening. Tomorrow, well, you'll see…"

A little later when, to his relief, Rous had curled up against him and put her head on his chest, he said, "So you're still interested in me?"

Rous nodded mutely and sniffled a little she had shed some tears shortly after going to bed but he had pretended not to notice because she hadn't drawn his attention to them and he didn't really know what to say.

"Well that's good anyway…" He said enjoying feeling her face against him and running his fingers through her long tresses, praying quietly to the Maker, Andraste and even Ser Maron, that on the morrow she wouldn't grow to hate him.

* * *

They were now heading southwards down the West Road directly through the Brecilian Forest. The Nublis trees were still awaiting spring, their almost bare branches striving towards the grey skies offering their buds tightly furled like candles in a Chantry.

It must be hereabouts, thought Alistair, that those travellers were attacked the previous year. He reminded himself that he needed to talk to Lanaya about that.

They had been riding for just over two hours when they were intercepted.

A lithe young Dalish female with short blond hair carrying a bow and quiver ran into the road. Bowing she said, "_A__ndaran atish'an1__,_ Lord Alistair". On the centre of her forehead directly above her long, elegant nose she bore a graceful, elaborately filigreed black diamond tattoo.

"_Ma sarennas2__,_" Alistair replied, suddenly aware that his poor Dalish, such as it was, had grown rusty over the last few months due to his neglecting his regular classes.

An older male with thick black shoulder length hair, blue wave-like markings and a more serious demeanour who said courteously enough, "Our Keeper says you should follow", quickly joined her.

By then the female was cooing and tickling an entranced Dusk behind the ear. Alistair dismounted and said to her, "Well you've certainly found his weak spot." Of the male he asked, "_Da'len3?_"

"She does well," he replied. Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair could see Rous cocking her head.

Rous got off Hope too and putting his hand over her shoulder Alistair said. "_Dar Rous: emma falon_4," the male and the female both nodded and Rous smiled, perhaps a little uncertainly.

"Horses?" The male asked, Alistair nodded. "I have never seen any before. These look to be most beautiful and gentle animals, almost as beautiful as halla. I am Eirseras and this is Glirwen. We shall escort you to our encampment."

They walked for about forty minutes, Alistair wasn't sure but he felt that they backtracked a few times, perhaps to disorientate them? Although since he was no scout, he could not say so for certain. He couldn't blame the Dalish for that, as King in Denerim there was only so much he could actually do to protect them from human predation; put laws in place and so forth, which he had. But actually, on the ground they had to fend for themselves. Should they be attacked again it would take at least a few days for the news to reach him in the capital and even longer for him to scupper help or retaliation.

Eventually they came to a clearing by a stream where the familiar aravals were sited. He also noticed that there were stone representations of their different deities throughout the camp. He wondered whether they transported the statues when they moved. He guessed they did. He looked at Rous. She seemed positively enthralled her jade eyes darting everywhere intrigued and charmed.

Several figures male and female squatted by the stream washing clothing and linen. One of them nudged another who got quickly to her feet. It was Lanaya. She was wearing what appeared to be an apron and she wiped her hands on it, just like Rous had wiped her hands the previous evening. She had the pendant he had given to her over a year ago around her neck.

"Sylaise's duties excuse no-one, _aneth ara5__,_ Alistair." She murmured and, as was customary they greeted each other with a quick kiss on the cheek. Alistair introduced Rous, Lanaya looked her over with her large azure eyes and they too exchanged kisses.

"Niamh is by the halla enclosure" Said Lanaya waving a delicate hand to the north, "I will be happy to meet with you later, Alistair."

Alistair nodded. "Let's go, Rous." And taking her by the arm he led her in the direction the Keeper had indicated.

"Who—" said Rous.

"You'll see." Replied Alistair hastily.

They passed Varathorn the crafter's outside workshop, Varathorn raised a hand to Alistair who returned his salutation. They went down a little hillock.

An undersized enclosure containing some eight white deer came into view. Outside the enclosure, two Elven females were shepherding five toddlers.

Alistair and Rous's presence caused a modest stir and both the females and most of the children turned. A dark-eyed blond child with a face as bright as a button broke away from the rest with cries of "Da-da… Da" and ran as quickly as her little legs could take her towards Alistair.

Alistair let go of Rous and squatted down opening his arms. The child ran into them and he lifted her up into the air and spun them, turning in circles, with his hands around her waist laughing delightedly.

"How is my pretty one, my little princess?" He said.

The girl chuckled with glee unselfconsciously reaching for his hair.

Alistair clasped her to his chest and then turned to Rous. "This is Niamh Eleniel, my daughter by Neriya…" He said.

* * *

1 "Enter this place in peace," formal Elven salutation

2 "Thank you"

3 "My child?"

4 "This is Rous, my friend."

5 "Good day."

_**Author's note:** My thanks to B for her generous help with the Elven language. B's work and contact details can be found on .org/ Please note that most of her fics are **rated at least "M"**, just like the game, and are generally ** NSFW**. expect sex, blood, violence, and strong language. If there's anything that might be a trauma trigger, warnings are inserted where applicable._


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter 55**

Dragon 9:35 Nublis/Drakonis The Brecilian Forest [Present]

Rous stood as if she were frozen by one of Neriya's ice spells.

"Rous," said Alistair, "Please say something… Rous…" He asked rather pathetically.

Rous shook herself. "Alistair, I really… She's beautiful."

Alistair beamed, "Thank you, I think she is, but then I'm her father and I would think that, wouldn't I?"

"Of course you would."

"I am really sorry I didn't tell you immediately… I hope you understand. I'm trying to keep her existence secret, because I want her to grow up normally and not be used as a weapon against me."

"Did you and—"

"No. We didn't even plan this. Or take precautions. Because we were both Grey Wardens we imagined that this would never come about. I still can't explain how Niamh _did_ turn up. She's my little miracle… Look, I think we need to go somewhere a little more discreet. Let's go over there, and pretend to be looking at the halla while I tell you what happened…" He pointed to the opposite side of the enclosure away from the toddlers and their custodians.

* * *

"So…" Rous summed up, "Neriya may be dead and Niamh was handed over to you by…"

"Zevran Airaini. One of the companions."

"Alistair, I don't want to be… But how do you know this child is whom the note claimed she is?"

"Believe it or not Rous, I am not entirely naïve. I did ask this myself… One: look at Niamh…"

Niamh was happily playing with one of the halla, pulling up grass and feeding it from her hand. The halla seemed more than happy to take what the toddler offered in preference to the grass underfoot.

"Her skin tone, her hair colour…"

"But her eyes are dark, very dark."

"Those are Neriya's eyes, Rous, once seen, never forgotten… By this man at least."

"Two?" She queried.

"She came with a Grey Warden amulet. The pattern of the bubbles in each amulet is somewhat different. The one in her shawl was almost certainly Neriya's."

"Three: Zevran delivered her. No, I'm not saying I would trust Zev with my life, I wouldn't, he is an assassin after all. But… How can I explain? He was… There were certain things Zev would never do, he had a code of honour, I guess, all of his own. He would _never_ deceive a former comrade in arms over a child… Never.

"Plus, Zev didn't owe me anything, but he owed Neriya. Oh, her _certainly_ owed her. And he respected her as the person that allowed him to live, our leader, a fellow elf, and even perhaps as a female. He would _never, ever,_ pass off a child as hers that wasn't… He is the one person, apart from myself to whom Neriya would entrust her child's safety …"

"Any more reasons?"

"The dates work out. The dates on which Neriya returned to Denerim for the second time. She only stayed a few months but, well, we were together several times, at least. I guess I was desperate to rekindle our old relationship. I failed. Given the estimate that Niamh is just over one year's old now. They work out."

They both looked at Niamh now who from feeding had started patting the halla a bit too hard. "Don't do that baby," Said Alistair catching her hand. "Now show the cute halla you're sorry by stroking it… That's a good girl… So what are you thinking, Rous?"

"That it's a bit much to take on board at the moment?"

"That's very understandable, if it had been the other way around, I guess I'd be a bit stunned, too. I just hope you can see why I kept it a secret. By the way, she's here because just before Bann Ceorlic was executed he told me her life was in danger… And not in a friendly manner, either.

"I sent Lawler to the house in Denerim where I had her and her Dalish wet nurse, Bregeth, with orders to get them out of there. We found a corpse dumped in the house after they'd left. A would-be assassin, I think. Someone did me a favour, apparently. He seemed to be Fereldan and poor but we couldn't determine anything else from his body or clothing."

"But how…?"

"Precisely, Rous," said Alistair leaning on the enclosure fence and clasping his hands together, "I would pay a not inconsiderable amount of sovereigns to establish how my little secret got out."

He reached down and tousled Niamh's hair, "Then, I'd hunt down the people who knew, of course, and… Better I not say. But imagine you or Fergus had been tipped off about what Howe had in store for your family…"

"_A Cousland always does her duty_." Recited Rous stony faced.

"Well exactly. Then I decided it would be safer to send them away for a time. So here we are," Alistair opened his arms, "In the middle of the Brecilian Forest." He hesitated a moment. "Rous, I made everyone else who is aware of Niamh's existence swear that they would keep it a secret. I won't be asking you, I trust you, but… Not even Fergus, I'm afraid."

"I swear by the Maker and his chosen bride, Holy Andraste, to keep this child's existence a secret…"

"Thank you so much, Rous."

"She's a child, _your_ child… Little Oren, my nephew…" Suddenly there were tears in her eyes and she blinked looking towards the bare trees surrounding the glade, "Was never given a chance, not a bloody chance…" Alistair reached for her hand.

"I am so sorry. The death of a child… It is beyond words, I think. I understand that now."

They held hands in silence for a few minutes watching Niamh prattling to the patient halla.

"Is it alright if I leave you now with Niamh, Rous? I need to meet with the keeper."

* * *

"She'll be all right with me." Said Rous.

"Good," said Alistair, "I don't think I'll be more than an hour."

After he had gone Rous and Niamh stayed a little while more by the Halla enclosure. Then picking the little girl up in her arms Rous went back to the centre of the encampment.

They wandered aimlessly for a while. The Dalish politely ignored them. Rous felt a little lost but then she noticed that the crafter was waving at her. She went over, "good day," said the elderly Elf. "Is there anything I can help you and little Niamh with?"

"I... " hesitated Rous.

"I am Varathorn." He said. "Perhaps Niamh would like to play with the reeds, she and the other children were learning how to plait the other day." He prompted amiably.

"You are very kind," said Rous, "by the way my name is Rous and I am a friend of Alistair's."

"Any friend of Alistair's is our friend." Said Varathorn. "Have you ever been in a Dalish encampment before?" He asked.

"No." said Rous.

"Then this must be very strange for you," said the Elf. He rummaged behind his workbench and eventually pulled out some half plaited green reeds that he handed to Niamh. "Here you are child, do you remember what you were doing the other day?"

"And what do you make, Varathorn?"

"All sorts of things," replied the Elf, "fishing nets, weapons, armour, footwear, baskets. Whatever is needed. My patron is June, god of craft. I have to supply my whole clan with my assistants, of course. But my speciality is working in Ironbark."

"Ironbark?" Asked Rous.

"Yes, it is a particular kind of rare wood. Only Elven craftsman can work with it, it requires special techniques and patience, much patience."

"I think I have heard of it," said Rous. "It is light but as strong as steel."

"Indeed." Said Varathorn, "See here," from under a pile of materials on his workbench the Elf produced a dagger some six inches long and handed it to Rous.

Rous tried holding it in various different ways and then ran her finger along the blade.

"No!" Exclaimed Varathorn, "be careful lady, it is very…"

Rous laughed, and sucked her finger. "Too late I'm afraid, call me a stupid human."

"I shall call you a _Shemlen_, Rous." He said gravely.

"And what does that mean?" Asked Rous.

"'A fast child'," replied Varathorn. "It is what we call humans, because to us it seems that sometimes they move faster, in every possible sense, than is good for them."

"The name seems appropriate." Admitted Rous.

"Indeed. Since my dagger has hurt you, perhaps you should keep it as compensation."

"What? No, no…" Said Rous, "it was entirely my fault—"

"If I were you, _Shem_, I would keep it." Said a voice from behind them, "you can use it to clean these."

Varathorn suddenly looked slightly taken aback. A very tall Elf with silvery eyes, hair a mess of dreadlocks and a scarlet tattoo on her face, handed Rous a brace of three dead rabbits. "There you go, this will be our supper." She said brusquely.

"Bregeth do not be so abrupt to Alistair's friend," said Varathorn, "she is our guest."

"There are no guests here, Varathorn." Said Bregeth, "everyone has to work for the common good, is that not what you were telling the lady?"

"No it was not, Bregeth, and although we may have missed you, at least _we_ are used to your bossy ways."

"Alistair is used to my bossy ways, too" replied Bregeth, "and if this lady—"

"Rous." prompted Rous.

"Rous, is Alistair's friend, then she needs to get used to my ways as well. I have hunted for supper and now I'm going to look after Niamh; the least Rous can do is prepare supper."

"She is as she is, but we love her." Mumbled Varathorn apologetically to Rous.

"That's all right," said Rous, "I'll be happy to help…"

"There you are." said Bregeth. "And don't forget to give the skins to Varathorn here, so he can make something useful out of them. Waste not, want not, that's the Dalish way."

* * *

"Once again, Keeper-"

"Lanaya please, Alistair."

"Lanaya, I am in your debt." Said Alistair. "Thank you so much for looking after Niamh."

"It was my pleasure, she is almost one of us. And how are you Alistair? How are things in Denerim?"

"Fraught as ever, but I seem to be getting used to it."

"That is good," said Lanaya.

"There are several things we need to discuss…" Alistair who was standing looked at his feet.

Lanaya shrugged, "Discuss then."

"Those two merchants that were killed on the West Road…"

"Could have been bandits, Alistair."

Alistair who had been pacing somewhat nervously suddenly stopped and turned to face her, "Come on, Lanaya!" For a moment his impatience got the better of him, I expect better of you than that…" He added quietly.

"Alistair, you must understand, we defend our interests, and always will, as best we can. Six of my clan lost their lives, it is only fair we should seek redress for that." Said the Keeper in an even tone.

"But at the very least you should have alerted me, Lanaya, not let me hear it from someone else." He said trying not to sound too severe.

"And what would you have done?"

"Arrested them? Put them on trial? I exiled Habren and Bann Ceorlic paid with his life, you know."

Lanaya nodded. "I heard, I was grateful for that… We were all grateful." She hesitated, "I know you're a good man Alistair, but do you really think justice would have been done?"

"No one can ever be sure of that, Lanaya. But justice was not well served by killing them, anyway. And one of them had a child with them at the time."

"But I understand the child was unharmed, Alistair." Said Lanaya blinking guilelessly.

Alistair sighed. "Believe me, I understand your position, and if I were you I might well have done the same, but I have responsibilities, and the lives of my citizens are among those responsibilities.

"One day it is my hope to be able to recognise you openly before my human subjects as the useful and faithful ally that you are, but things like this do not bring that day any nearer."

He paused, "Anyway, let's set this aside for now, but in future, I would meekly request that you consult me before taking action." There was a momentary silence while he let that sink in.

"Another thing… South Reach. There's a Landsmeet the week after next. One of the first held since the Blight… I believe a distant branch of the family has been found, the descendents of Bryland's estranged sister, who apparently eloped to marry a commoner… and was subsequently disinherited. The Landsmeet will review the claim and then vote on whether the title should transfer.

"I've yet to go over the documents on which the claim is based and interview the people concerned, but if the claim is as good as it sounds, I will be asking the Landsmeet to endorse it… Yet another commoner unexpectedly elevated to nobility… The more of us, the merrier." Alistair grinned.

"And?"

"There is an opportunity here for you, I think. An opportunity, with a little diplomacy, to establish a good relationship from the beginning with a local landowner… A fresh start. I would encourage you to take it…"

"Hmmm…" Said the Keeper thoughtfully, her eyes for a moment lost in the distance.

"Another thing. This is personal… I found out who my mother was…"

"Ah."

"That was… A surprise…" He paused, clasping his hands behind his back, "She wrote me a letter, you know, before she died. I think she loved me… In her own way… Not saying it was easy to come to terms with, though…" He shook his head still looking slightly concerned.

"Your father's amorous predilections were well known… Among the _Elvhenan_."

"You did well, just hinting, rather than telling… If you had told me outright I wouldn't have believed you, I don't think. As it was, it turned out that Neriya somehow got an inkling of it and she didn't break it to me either…"

"And this young lady, Rous…"

"A friend… Perhaps one day soon, something more. It's complicated. I brought her here so she could meet Niamh."

Lanaya nodded and for a while they were both comfortably silent lost in their own musings.

Finally Lanaya said, "I came by some information which may be useful to us both, Alistair." She began unnecessarily straightening her gown over her knees.

"So tell me Kee— Lanaya."

"The Chantry, Alistair, the Chantry as well as the Bann is involved in all this… They may have paid the merchants the money that was passed to Habren and that Orleisian of hers."

"How did you obtain this information?"

"Let us say that a little _Orlesian_ bird in the wood told us… But I assure you it is reliable."

Alistair sighed.

"It must be difficult as an Andrastian…" Said Lanaya sympathetically.

"It is. But it is not hard to believe. I have seen somewhat of how the Chantry works from the inside and on the ground as it were. There are good people who are Chantrians and bad… As with everything else. I am due to meet with the Grand Cleric in a few weeks time. That will be interesting, I have never met her in person."

"Tread carefully, Alistair, never make more enemies than you need to or can take on at one time."

Alistair smiled at her, "I will, Lanaya, I will."

* * *

When Alistair left the meeting with Lanaya one of the first things he saw was Bregeth overseeing Niamh who seemed to be very busy unravelling some green reeds. Bregeth looked up and smiled when she saw him, she wasn't wearing the smock he was used to see her wear in Denerim but rather breeches and the loose top which would dappled in different shades of green.

He put his arms around her and asked her how she been; "very well" said Bregeth, "It was nice to be back. I think Niamh really likes it here, too."

"Yes said Alistair, "we saw her earlier with some other Elven children and they seem to be enjoying themselves. Bregeth, where is Rous?"

"Somewhere over there besides the stream I believe, she's cleaning some rabbits I hunted for supper."

Alistair walked over quickly in the direction Bregeth had indicated. He soon saw Rous with her back to him sitting cross-legged in front of a tree stump. When he went over to her the first thing he noticed was that her hands were covered in blood and other things, on a cloth draped over the tree trunk in front of her were the remains of what had been three rabbits not so long ago.

"Supper." Said Rous waving at the skinned disembowelled little bodies.

"Ha." Said Alistair, "I didn't know you… Well…"

"Oh, I've been hunting since I was a child" said Rous, "and if there was ever anything that Fergus decided was a girl's job it was field dressing what we had caught. Frankly, I think he was a little squeamish, myself. Anyway, how do you think I survived in the countryside during the Blight?"

"Good job." Said Bregeth striding up behind them. "I think you've earned that knife…"

"Rous." Prompted Rous.

Bregeth smiled, "I will get it in the end, human."

"Make sure you do, Bregeth." Said Rous rising to her feet and smiling back at her. "I am going to wash my hands in the stream."

"Not bad." Said Bregeth tracking her with her eyes.

"You approve?" Asked Alistair somewhat nervously.

Bregeth shrugged. "She _is_ human…"

"Ah, well, that… I probably should have noticed before now."

"Are you happy?"

A strange question coming from Bregeth, he thought. "She… I don't know. I like her of course, lots. We're sort of in between times, I think."

"She came here with you."

"Oh that's because she was teaching me to ride and she has a bit of an adventurous spirit, I think…"

Bregeth looked at him somewhat curiously. "I see."

"We're not… Why am I telling you this?" He said.

Bregeth suddenly stretched, "Are you alright to look after Niamh this evening?"

"Yep… but."

"It's full moon." She said. As if that were an explanation.

* * *

About three hours later they had supper. A series of folding tables were set out under the trees and near a fire. The eldest were allocated seats closest to the fire.

The supper began with a prayer to Andruil thanking her for providing the food that they were about to dine on. All the food was shared communally so as well as a few mouthfuls of rabbit, they dined on fish and boar. In fact, the three Elves who had slain the boar, were declared the hunters of the day and toasted by Lanaya. To drink there was a choice of halla milk, beer and herbal tea.

Alistair was offered a seat next to Lanaya, but he preferred to sit next to Niamh, Rous and Bregeth. He noticed the elves also tended to sit in family groups.

Since Niamh was being weaned Bregeth and Alistair offered her the occasional spoonful of solid fare, mashed up, of course. Occasionally, Niamh would slip away from or under the table and start playing with some of the Elven toddlers whom she obviously regarded as friends and companions.

Alistair noticed that Rous ate very enthusiastically and was generous in her thanks to their hosts. She especially seemed to have established a relationship with Varathorn who happened to be sitting opposite and they were exchanging comments and conversation throughout the supper.

For dessert there were fruit, dried berries and nuts. At the very end a jug of water of life was passed to and it seemed in Alistair's honour. Most of the elves Bregeth and Alistair drunk more than a few little cups but Rous politely declined.

Raising her eyebrows at Alistair she said, "so this is where you developed a taste for malted liquor?"

Alistair who by then was a bit far gone, merely smiled dopily in response.

* * *

They were due to sleep in an araval that night.

When they went in Alistair and rooms discovered that it was very compact and cosy, although he had a bit of trouble with his height because it was built for someone lower than he. The sleeping arrangements were basically a padded mat with coverings for Alistair and Rous and a crib for Niamh. Niamh seemed quite tired after what for her had obviously been an exciting day so she soon up and fell asleep quite quickly. Alistair in his smallclothes also had to curl up because if he didn't his feet would have been poking out over the side of the mat. Rous snuggled in behind him, also in her smalls.

Some hours later there were a few piercing cries. Alistair struggled up and careful not to hit his head on the low ceiling went over to Niamh's crib. It was obvious that her nappy needed changing and after setting a lamp he went about it. Meanwhile Rous after momentarily waking up and muttering a few inarticulate words, fell groggily back to sleep again. Alistair had to squeeze in next to her because she seemed to have forgotten that they were sharing the mat.

Half an hour later Niamh cried again Rous woke up completely. Alistair went over to his weeping child who was standing up in her crib. He picked her up and put her over the shoulder patting her gently in case she had trapped wind.

"Would you mind very much…" He asked Rous. "I really think she's missed me."

And so they spent the rest of the night with Alistair curled up in the middle, Niamh sleeping in one corner of the mat and Rous snuggled up in the space behind Alistair. Although a bit short of space, cuddled up between the two girls, Alistair decided he had never felt happier in his life.


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter 56**

Dragon 9:35 Nublis/Drakonis The Brecilian Forest/Lothering [Present]

Nimion, Arnor and Móriel were hoping to repeat their success of the previous day when they had been toasted by the Keeper in front of her _Shemlen_ visitors for providing the most food for their clan's table in the form of a boar.

Therefore, despite Móriel's objections that boars were intelligent creatures and it was highly unlikely they would return to the place where, just the day before, one of their number had been captured they found themselves once again in the area where the thermal pools lay.Móriel's protestation that it was unfair that in such a short space of time the same family of boars should lose another of its members to contribute to the well-being of the Azraili, was also ignored.

It irked Móriel considerably that although as the hunter/scout she was often the one responsible for selecting and tracking down the appropriate prey, the two pure hunters, who were her seniors in age, often omitted to give her enough credit for this or to respect her views.

And although Nimion and Arnor professed to despise the _Shems_, Arnor especially because his mother had been a fugitive City Elf embraced some two decades ago by the clan, they seemed particularly eager to show off in front of the _Shem_ king. Móriel as the youngest did not quite have the courage to point out this inconsistency to the males; however, she did make a mental note of it for future use, if necessary.

They were skirting one of the shallower pools when Móriel made the gesture for silence. Sure enough, the party became aware of some noises coming from nearby. They crawled into some undergrowth, and since it was not at all strange for some of the wildlife of the area to use the pools, they peered through them in that direction.

Arnor whistled under his breath. "Look what we have here," he said. Nimion suppressed a chuckle, which Móriel thought this was entirely inappropriate for the eldest among them. However, she too found her eyes drawn to the figure in the pool. The young blonde _Shem_ king was standing in the midst of it with the water up to his waist apparently calling to his female, who was out of view, to join him.

Arnor shook his head and said quietly, "It is most disgusting how these _Shems_ have to pollute everything. No doubt they will soon shamelessly be engaging in the sexual act in our sacred pool…"

"And what would you know, Arnor?" Hissed Móriel, "The last time I checked _you_ were unmated, my understanding is that _we_ use these pools for similar purposes". Suddenly both Arnor and Móriel were looking at Nimion.

"I'll not deny it." Said the elder of the three, "But _we_ carry out the necessary ceremonies to appease the gods, unlike these feckless _Shems_… And as I understand it, you too, Móriel are unmated…" He added almost as an afterthought.

All three of them for a moment looked back at the pool. The _Shem_ king had taken a few strides towards the edge and as he entered shallow water, it became apparent that he was clad in linen breeches.

"See," exclaimed Móriel, "He is intent on bathing rather than fornication as you suggest, Arnor."

Arnor shrugged, "All the same their presence is polluting as they do not respect the spirits of nature and are closer to animals than to the _Elvhenan_, look at his body hair… Disgusting!"

Móriel had to squint, "Well he does have some hair on his chest but it is hardly objectionable…" To tell the truth, she was beginning to find his muscular form rather attractive… even the fine golden hair on his chest. "Are you sure you are not jealous Arnor? I have heard that humans, and especially the males, surpass Elven males in size… In all parts of their anatomy."

Arnor turned so red she almost felt sorry for him… His mouth opened several times speechlessly like that of a landed trout. To think not so long ago she had found _him_ attractive… Nimion was about to intervene when the human female came into view.

She was not wearing breeches like the _Shem_ king but her shirt and smallclothes. Responding to his call, she tentatively dipped one foot in the water.

"You see, Rous?" He said to her, "It's nice and warm… Come over here…"

Móriel noticed that both the males suddenly seemed to be paying as much attention to the human female whose long red hair fell almost to her waist as the _Shem_ king himself. The female took one careful step into the pool, then another and… then she slipped.

Móriel was amused to see that Arnor and Nimion lurched forward as if to assist her, which suddenly made her think somewhat better of them both. Nevertheless, the _Shem_ king who was obviously much nearer, got to her first and caught her before she could go under.

"Did I mention that it was a bit slippery?" He said once he had helped her regain her footing and she had recovered from her surprise.

"No, Alistair, you didn't," said the human female, and then swatted him lightly over the ear.

The big man said, "Ow!" but was clearly unhurt. Móriel had to put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"Right that's it then…" Said the _Shem_ king and putting his arms around her waist pulled her to him and kissed her. The redhead moved her hands as if to protest or resist and then, clearly thinking the better of it, wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his embrace.

Móriel sighed.

Arnor looked at her raising his eyebrows. "You see," he muttered, "fornication…"

_Well if that's fornication, _thought Móriel, _I could do with some…_

Nimion suddenly broke his silence and at last said something sensible, "Amusing though it is, looking at these humans frolicking is not going to put food on our table. _Da'lenen,_ get moving, back to our business and duty."

The two males headed off, Móriel trailed them somewhat reluctantly, glancing frequently behind her.

* * *

It was who Rous broke the kiss, "Alistair, did you get the feeling that somebody was watching us?"

"No…. Not really." He said, his eyes suddenly checking the bushes surrounding them. "What does it matter anyway? We're not doing anything wrong."

"Would you like to wash my hair?"

Alistair went over to the edge of the pool and retrieved a bar of soap that they had left with the rest of their belongings. Meanwhile Rous dipped her hair in the water wetting it. When Alistair returned he set about lathering the soap and then rubbing it gently into Rous's hair.

He really enjoyed doing this; it was an un-intrusive but very sensual way of touching her. Therefore, he lathered far more than was strictly necessary enjoying the silky feel of her wet tresses between his fingers and running in his hands over her scalp. Meanwhile Rous had closed her eyes and was leaning against him. There was a smile of contentment playing on her lips.

When he could no longer find justification for continuing and the tips of his fingers were getting wrinkly due to prolonged exposure to the water, he said, "that's it."

Rous still smiling dipped her head quickly under the water to rinse it and he watched it swirl around her in scarlet tendrils as if were some exotic form of seaweed and she some mythical aquatic creature.

* * *

A little later, they were both sitting in a sunny spot at the edge of the pool in their damp smallclothes drying out. Alistair moved his feet idly in the water while Rous was on her knees at his side, looking even more like a mermaid attempting to run a comb through her now unruly locks after wringing them out.

At one point she started swearing at a tangle that was a little too tight for her to easily unravel. Alistair gestured for her to give him the comb; she did, and turned her back to him so he could comb out the knot with greater ease. Rous's shirt was still wet and stuck to her skin.

Alistair started to tackle the tangle with far greater gentleness than Rous had. Once he had worked it loose, he drew the comb down in a smooth stroke to the tips of her hair. As he did so he noticed something on her upper back, at first he thought it was a kink in the still wet shirt that was somewhat thinner than those she tended to wear usually. He touched it cautiously with his fingertips and found it to be an angled ridge on her skin. Similarly, to what had happened the previous day, Rous froze still as soon as he touched her.

Guided purely by instinct, Alistair ran both his hands gently down her back and found numerous other ridges all angled downwards in the same direction from right to left. His hands eventually fell to his side and his mouth went very dry.

Rous breathed in and then said almost inaudibly, "I was going to tell you… I was, but it got more difficult for some reason as things became… More complicated between us…"

"Rous turn around, please." He asked. She did so very stiffly, still on her knees.

Alistair put his index finger under her chin and angled her face so they were looking each other directly in the eyes, barely a few inches separating their features. "Rous…" He said again and then stopped. She flinched; he cleared his throat, "Rous, what happened to you my love? What happened?"

Rous removed his finger from her chin and drew up her legs in front of her crossing them and wrapping her arms around them replied, "I'm not quite ready to discuss it yet."

* * *

He'd had to accept that. "I hope you'll tell me when you are." He'd responded.

As they were walking back to the Dalish camp, now fully dressed, he said, "I was thinking, even before our discussion this morning… Lothering is not far from here, we could go there tomorrow if you wish. I don't think it will take us more than a day there and back on the horses. We could stay a few hours. Then we need to return to Denerim before the end of the week; idyllic as it is here, duty calls and I can't dally any longer..."

For the first time since their earlier conversation, Rous looked at him directly tilting her head.

"It might help you come to term with some of the things that happened to you during the blight, Rous. It is only a suggestion…" He added cautiously.

"I think I might welcome that." She replied.

* * *

They had been riding at a brisk canter towards Lothering for about two hours.

Rous had not recovered from the revelation of the previous day. She had become more introspective and far less chatty. Following a restless night when all she could do was fidget due to the limited sleeping space rather than toss and turn, to the extent that he had tried embracing her for several hours to calm her down and reassure her, she had been out of sorts and rather taciturn for most of their journey. Her eyes were fixed forward and there was a serious cast to her features. It seemed clear she was mulling things over. The day itself was glum and grey, imminent with the threat of rain.

Suddenly, out of the blue, turning to Alistair she said, "Of everything that happened in that wretched year, do you know what bothers me the most now?"

"I really can't guess…" Said Alistair mildly, well aware that different things affected people differently.

"It's not what happened to me but what was done to our chaplain, Mother Mololl, and to Ser Gilmore …"

She paused, "They survived the assault on Highever and Howe took them prisoner.

"He tortured them…

"On his return to Denerim, Fergus found their bodies in the basement of Fort Drakon, dumped in a pile with several other stripped corpses."

Alistair shuddered, recalling his and Neriya's brief confinement in the sinister fortress. That fate could well have been theirs.

"They were innocent, Alistair, not like you and I or most others." Rous continued.

"They always thought the best of people; they were good, kind and forgiving. I carried a torch for Gilmore for years, but he always turned me down in the gentlest most humorous way possible. I am sure he entered Fort Drakon a virgin, as did she. I am equally certain that they did not die in that state. And do you know why Howe did that?" Rous was extremely agitated and her voice was getting very loud.

His eyes lowered, Alistair shook his head.

"He was looking for me, Alistair; looking for _me_… Neither of them could _possibly_ have any idea where I was, but he tortured them to death anyway. Yes, little Oren and Oriana were innocent, too, but at least they died quickly. Not so Mother Mololl and Gilmore…

"I am an Andrastian, but when I pass away, should I meet the Maker, I am going to ask him why he allowed that to happen; and his answer better be a good one because if I am not happy with it…" she was shouting now, "If it does not satisfy me, _I am going to spit in his face!_"

Alistair opened his mouth to say something, he wasn't sure exactly what, but in any event, before he had time to articulate so much as a word, Rous had squatted down over Hope's neck pressed her knees into his side and disappeared down the road at a gallop.

Thinking that at least one of them had to keep his head, Alistair continued at a steady trot, when he rounded the next bend, to his relief, he saw her about a quarter of a mile ahead of him. When he caught up with her, he could see that her face was covered in tears. Suddenly she bowed her head and started to sob uncontrollably.

"Let's dismount and walk the horses for a while, shall we?" He suggested, afraid her volatility might spook Hope; he was becoming ever more aware of the way the animals reacted to their riders' emotions.

Even though he was not sure she had heard him, Rous tearfully complied and slipped from the saddle.

When they had both dismounted, she virtually collapsed against him, shaking and crying. "I have nightmares about what happened to them sometimes… I see everything that is done to them… And there is a voice telling me it was all my fault…" She whimpered.

"Have you spoken to anyone else about this?" He asked after they had walked about half a mile leading their horses through the soft drizzle. They had both pulled up the hoods on their capes.

It had occurred to him that a spiritual adviser of some kind might be of assistance in the circumstances. Although he could attempt to argue that it was not her fault, someone with a greater awareness of theology as well as morality might be more convincing. "What about… Charbelle, is she still around?"

"Charbelle…" Rous heaved a sigh, "I owe her so much already…"

* * *

"Tell me something…" He said a little later.

"What?"

"Did that galloping help you a bit?"

"It's good for getting rid of some tension, feeling the air rushing against your face and the horse under you doing what he's always been yearning to do… Yes, it did help. I'll teach you to gallop very soon now." She said answering his second question before he had asked it. "Let's get back on the horses, Alistair, I've calmed down now, …"

* * *

As Lawler had told him a few months, back the Chantry Chapel at Lothering was pretty much in ruins. A considerable part of the building showed scorch marks, two thirds of the roof had fallen in and the stout oak and door now gaped ajar. Alistair went in himself first instructing Rous to wait outside. Surprisingly most of the pews seemed to be intact but the library, ornaments and any items of value had all but disappeared.

He took a few paces into the place looking at the roof beams and the building's supporting pillars before he went outside and informed Rous that he considered it safe for her to enter.

When she did, as he had anticipated, the dozen Templar Shields that had been arranged around the rectangular stone altar immediately caught her attention. There was additional shield, a round plain metal one with no device, the sort of thing a squire or a warrior in-training might wield, Alistair assumed that this had or been used by the Chantry brother who had obviously stayed to fight along side his lover Ser Seoras.

"You know," said Rous pensively, "there is nothing more tempting than a good death. Seeing this I am jealous of them all, especially that novice, he was probably no better a trained fighter than I am. And yet he gave his life and I am standing here today."

Alistair quietly murmured his agreement and then asked, "Imagine if you _were_ memorialised here, what would your shield look like, and would you use the Cousland device?"

"Well yes," said Rous, "or a heart-shaped shield…" Her lips quirked slightly, "Or perhaps I wouldn't be represented by a shield at all, but by a pair of chain mail knickers…"

Alistair laughed, relieved to hear Rous make a joke, "chain mail knickers… That sounds so… Uncomfortable… But hot." He added, he could just picture it in his mind's eye.

Rous smiled at him. "Well somebody remembered them anyway, and that is good, look there are even garlands on the altar. Not fresh, withered now, but at least someone put them there."

"Sometimes it helps the pain to remember, you know," said Alistair "I erected that memorial to Duncan in Highever shortly after becoming King. It felt good to do that, right somehow."

Yes, I remember that," replied Rous, "Fergus and I went to look at it a few days after you left. Do you know what Fergus said then?"

Alistair shook his head.

"'Our new young King, obviously he's a sentimental one. He won't last.' Yet here you are. Standing besides me, 'the next to last of the Couslands' as Fergus likes to call me."

"You could do something similar here you know, Rous. Place a stone in front of the altar with their names on it or outside at the entrance. Of course, you'd have to talk to the Chantry and also to Bann Agus but I can't see that they would object. You could even go a bit further, perhaps, erect a monument or something to _all_ the victims of the Blight. So many people died and were damaged by it there can never be enough monuments, I say."

Rous nodded. "That is a good idea. I'll think about that, Alistair, can you do me a favour?"

"Of course."

"Would you mind awfully leaving me here sometime alone?"

"Of course not. I'll have a ramble around Lothering see who's here, remember it for myself… Half an hour?"

"Yes, that will be plenty… And, Alistair? Thanks. I'm glad I came."


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter 57**

Dragon 9:35 Nublis/Drakonis Lothering [Present]

When Alistair returned about half an hour later having just checked on Dusk and Hope, he found Rous sitting quietly on one of the pews. He went in and sat just behind her.

After a little while she said, "This is the exact place where I sat that night, I think, waiting for Charbelle."

Alistair nodded.

"The rest I have to tell you, does not reflect altogether too well on me, I am afraid." She paused, "But it's only fair you should know."

"There are still several things _I_ have to tell you, Rous. And I don't think they reflect particularly well on me, either. The Blight was a testing time for most everyone, I believe, it was very difficult to maintain your integrity…"

"Well then… A few days after getting to Denerim, I went to The Pearl…"

The corners of Alistair's mouth drooped.

"No, no, no…" Rous reassured him, "It wasn't _quite_ as bad as that… I asked to speak to Sanga. Hadn't met the woman but I'd heard Fergus talk about her… I'm not even sure Fergus used The Pearl himself, he may have done before he got married, but he used to hang out a lot in the pre-Blight days with Cailan… Yes, I'm blaming your half-brother. Cailan liked threesomes, apparently, him and two girls…"

"Alistair muttered something and then shrugged. "He's more than paid for any indulgences…"

"So she came out to see me. She was just as Fergus described her, 'I'm convinced she's a commoner," he'd said, 'because she dresses like a lady and puts on such ladylike airs… Quite unlike you, Rosy.'

"Sanga smirked when she saw my leather armour, 'Please take a seat,' she said. 'How can I assist you?'

'I want a job,' I said.

"She signalled to someone behind me and suddenly a cup of wine was placed in front of me.

'Do tell…' She said.

'This can be a busy place…'

'Yes.' She replied, 'It can be…'

'Lots of people coming and going…'

'Please…

'Aude,' I said,

'Please, Aude, I am rather busy.'

'Don't your…'

'Lads and wenches,'

"lads and wenches,' I repeated,' leave your premises quite often?'

'With a certain frequency they do, yes,' replied Sanga.

'Well, I can act as an escort for them… Make sure they get there safely and get back safely… I'm a female so essentially, I'm non-threatening to both your lads and wenches and your potential clients, but I can fight… I even have a reference.'

"I passed her a letter I had asked Charbelle to write for me the day before, of course, I didn't tell Charbelle to whom I would be presenting it. She had said, 'Oh that's wonderful Rous so one of your noble acquaintances has found you employment after all!' and I had just nodded in response.

"Sanga perused it with interest and smiled.

'I have been in this business for quite a while,' she said,' but this is the very first time I have been presented with a letter of recommendation from a Chantry novice. I shall think on it.'

"My disappointment must have shown.

'Oh very well,' she said, 'come back this evening, Aude.'

"And so it was that for a few months I acted as an escort for The Pearl's lads and wenches, while a few of them took umbrage, most of them accepted my presence with good grace.

"The most common reaction was to tease me or flirt with me, every now and then while I was waiting outside an assignment place, one of the lads or wenches would pop out and say to me, 'Aude, they need another wench, why don't you get you arse inside?' Sometimes it was a joke, sometimes it wasn't. I always said no.

"Prostitution would have been just a little too easy for me at that stage, and I felt that once I had embarked on that particularly slippery slope, it would be by no means simple for me to claw my way back. I can't claim to be particularly perceptive but it was a matter of days before I realised that most in the profession were full of self-loathing… A trait I could recognise, in abundance, within myself.

"Other times I was really needed, one of the wenches would come out with a black eye and I would go in and retrieve the money, and give the "client" a good kicking, too, before I left. Unexpectedly I began to feel pretty protective towards people and for me that became the most important and fulfilling part of the job.

"I also tried to keep my ear to the ground. I'll admit I had fantasies of revenge. So a few weeks in, I made some discreet enquiries as to whether they ever received a request for their services from Arl Howe.

'Who?' Asked one,

'I know who you mean,' replied another, 'the new Arl of Denerim.'

'Howe is the new Arl of Denerim?' I asked, 'what happened to the old one? '

'Oh he disappeared or something.'

'Rumour is that the Elves got him,' said one of the lads pulling a face that he obviously hoped looked mysterious, 'apparently, he tried to kidnap an Elven maiden on her wedding day. As well as being barbarous, that is simply bad luck.' For some reason prostitutes believed a lot in luck, 'And so he disappeared.'

'I see,' I replied, wondering whether Howe's acquisitive, tendencies would get the better of him and one day.

'Anyways,' said the wench, 'he is known for having "special" tastes.'

"I shouldn't have been surprised. A 'special' taste, which was brothel-speak, could mean one of several things, one of several perversions, but in his case, I was pretty certain that given what had happened at Highever, his particular enjoyment must be inflicting pain on others.

"Sanga was of course immoral, or perhaps amoral? However, unless coerced or bribed she did not usually get involved in anything that would cause damage to her assets, or so she considered them.

"In any event, I well imagined that given his status the new Arl of Denerim would have sufficient resources at his disposal to satisfy such tendencies discreetly and in private. Because, of course, he would not want them widely known. He may have been a staunch ally of the old man but I seriously doubted that Loghain would condone such tastes as inevitably, they would reflect badly on him. So much for my getting to him through my employment with The Pearl, I thought. In any event, I still needed to eat and keep a roof over my head.

"It was a few months after I began working for The Pearl, I don't recall exactly when, I was commissioned by the evening to this group of some six wenches and lads to one of the public houses in the poorest quarters of Denerim. I think the establishment was called 'The Upstanding Oak' or something of that kind. This was obviously going to be a party of some sort, a celebration; it was among the most popular kind of work for the denizens of The Pearl. The party I was escorting was gaudy, frolicsome and noisy as we may our way through the streets of the lower quarters.

"When we got there, I spent some time inside the tavern but it soon got a bit too rowdy for me, and since the thing seemed to be genuinely good-humoured, I decided I could take a breath of fresh air outside. Although indeed fresh air is a bit difficult to come by in that part of Denerim so near the river and it was too late and too dark to pull out my book.

"I was reading a romance. Whereas my library at Highever was virtually empty and Fergus' comprised a lot of risqué titles of the kind that used to make Gilmore blush when I merely recited them to him, in The Pearl the most popular reading matter, among those that could read, of course, was the romance and well-regarded romances roamed from hand to hand.

"I recall sitting at one of the wet benches of one of the wet rustic tables outside. At least my leathers would spare me from any splinters. The noise coming from inside was far too loud to enable me to fall asleep.

"After I'd been out there for about half an hour or so, a young man about half a head shorter than I but also clad in leathers, came out and sat opposite me.

'Ufff,' he said fanning himself, 'it's getting really hot in there, and at least I'm not out here alone.'

"He had a roundish face and rosy cheeks a medium length blond beard neatly kept.

'And you are?' He asked.

'Aude.'

'Ah yes, from the Pearl,'

'That's right.'

'A minder. A babysitter.' '

"I scowled at him. 'Someone has to do it.'

'But perhaps you could do better than escorting whores…'

"I gave him a fierce look, I realised then that my job had gotten to me. In a good way. I had begun to care for my charges.

'They are people too…' I informed him.

'But not very profitable people… for you at least.'

'It allows me to keep body and soul together.'

'Just barely, I should imagine…'

'Well, do you have a point, if so I would ask that you get to it or leave me be.'

'Fair enough. We are… _I am_ hoping to set up a private militia, to rival the Blackstone Irregulars, say.' He tugged slightly at his beard as he said this.

'You mean a mercenary squad.'

'Yes. The times are ripe for it, I think.'

"In that, he was certainly right. From what I could establish there was actually a civil war going on, in all but name, with Eamon and Teagan and assorted allies waging a war of attrition against the old man, Howe and his. Most of the nobility, though, unsurprisingly, seemed to be holding back on taking sides until either faction had a clear advantage.

"Everyday news reached Denerim of some minor skirmish or clash in which one group of the other had come out ahead. It was thoroughly confusing; there was no way at all of knowing what was really happening…

"The Darkspawn and what some persons were beginning to call Blight seemed almost overlooked in these circumstances. Having seen the devastating aftermath of Ostagar and the evacuation and subsequent fall of Lothering, I found this highly disturbing.

'Females are not often found for this type of organisation and all the more valuable for that.' He added, 'By the way, my name is Godfrey.' He extended a very white hand for me to shake. I took it, it was limp and damp.

'Come back here around midday tomorrow, Aude, I shall put your mettle to the test, should I approve, I will offer you a position.'

'What is the pay?' I enquired.

'A percentage of our profits.' Said Godfrey.

'Nothing comes of nothing,' I remarked putting my head to one side.

'Oh, I knew you would prove to be a difficult one. 'Godfrey said laughing.

'But if things were going so badly, do you think we would be celebrating? '

"I went back there at midday of the following day. The tavern had a small garden behind it and this had been cleared for our confrontation. I had given some thought to what my tactics in this fight should be, since I suspected we would be similarly matched, I decided that the level of foolhardiness would be appropriate.

"So therefore contrary to what would be my normal tactics, which would be wear and winnow, in other words, multiple feints, light attacks followed by speedy withdrawals. I chose to go for a full frontal blitz in the hope that I could either take him down very quickly or put him on the back foot, such as to give me a clear advantage early on.

"Godfrey was surprised and for a short time my tactic did seem to get the better of him, however, he was not to be so easily shaken, and eventually when my first wind ran out, we found ourselves engaged in an overlong tussle of attrition. However, since I had expended at all for lot of energy up front, the longer we were engaged the worse it went for me. Eventually he wore me down and I was compelled to surrender.

"He was a good-humoured victor, laughing and calling for ales for both of us.

'So you will accept my offer then, Aude?'

'But I lost,' I pointed out. I had just noticed he had wide blue eyes; they reminded me of Charbelle's.

'Oh, but you did surprise me, and I like to be surprised. 'He said accepting a tankard from the taverner's wife and drinking deeply.

'I also thought that you were fighting for a good while at a level lower than your real capability.' I said holding my tankard rather awkwardly.'

'So you spotted that did you? Well, good on you. Another reason why I should employ you.'

"Thus started my career as a mercenary. We were called the Soldiers of the Lion, because Godfrey had a thing about lions. What I liked about it, apart from the pay, was that I could opt in or out according to for whom we were fighting. So I would happily volunteer to fight for anybody on the side of Redcliffe or Rainesfere, if on the other hand we were doing something for the old man, Anora or one of their allies then I would stick to my job in Denerim. I do not want you to get the wrong idea, Alistair, mercenaries are mercenaries and not benign fade spirits, just because I only fought for one side does not mean I was virtuous or that I did not do things that were reprehensible. I can make you some assurances; I never killed those that were unarmed, not resisting or women and children, as for the rest, well…

"Godfrey seemed perplexed by my choices, until he perceived the pattern. He queried it with me one day, especially in light of the fact that fighting for those currently in power was considerably more lucrative than fighting for the rebels. I gave a nonchalant answer that he seemed to accept at the time.

"Godfrey proved himself to be a brave, charismatic and above all, astute, leader. I remember on one particular occasion we were separated from an ally by an enemy encampment. There was no way to get past it without being detected and if we were detected, we would be overwhelmed such was the difference in numbers. However, in order for our strategy to be successful we needed to coordinate our movements with those of our ally.

"Godfrey tackled this obstacle with considerable ingenuity. One of our number was made up to look as though he were suffering from the taint. We recreated what appeared to be lesions using dyes and wild berry juices to stain his skin. Acting as if he were suffering from the typical mental confusion that afflicts the taint-addled in the last stages of the disease, our man stumbled straight through the enemy encampment untouched.

"This might seem like a fluke, but Godfrey had already worked out beforehand and unilaterally, a detailed attack strategy that was most likely to lead to our success was set out in a document our colleague had hidden, sewn by me, under his clothing.

"I was therefore doing very well out of joining the Soldiers of the Lion. Although I liked Godfrey well enough, there were some hints, however, from people who had worked with him a considerable amount of time, which he was not all he seemed. There were rumours that he was working for the Orlesians ultimately, in which case his mission would be to maximise any internal disruption caused by the covert civil war. As to why Orlais would pay good coin to destabilise a Ferelden that was already under the cosh of the Blight, no one could explain. All the same, it might just be possible.

"He also, apparently, had personal flaws although I did not actually see them until it was too late. On one occasion when working indirectly for Loghain and I think, it is significant that the old man, almost always used middlemen such as Howe when contracting mercenaries, our forces did not fare so well which meant payment was withheld. I was told that Godfrey was absolutely enraged, to the extent that he almost beat to death one of his closest subordinates whom he held responsible for the debacle. Significantly, none of the others thought or cared to intervene, such is the nature of mercenaries.

"This I say is what I heard, but they also say that seeing is believing and only because I did not directly see it for myself, I really could not quite bring myself believe it. More fool me.

"And so it came to pass that just over six months after beginning work with The Soldiers of the Lion, Godfrey came to me with a special mission. This was to track down a woman who had taken refuge in Denerim port and persuade her to come to his headquarters at The Upright Oak.

"It seemed straightforward enough. He gave me a brief but accurate description of the female in question, her age and appearance and told me that she would be with a babe in arms and another on the way. He stressed I was not to use violence or indeed force of any kind, not that I would with a woman with child, I assured him.

"Well, as you know, the port is always very busy but at the height of the covert war and a potential Blight it was heaving with people desperately looking to depart and traders travelling in both directions desperate to make a killing out of Ferelden's current misfortunes.

"It took me almost two days to find her. She was standing on the quayside holding a child over her swollen stomach with a sack at her feet. I tapped her on the shoulder and she nearly jumped several inches in the air. Her face was gaunt, her hair unkept.

'Godfrey would like to see you at The Upstanding Oak,' I said, 'I can take you there.'

'Sweet Andraste, I knew he would track me down…' her voice was faint and quavered.

'Why don't you come with me?' I said picking up the sack.

'Take it, if you want, take all the possessions remaining to me, but please, I beseech you, leave me and the children here… Please, kind lady.' Her grip around the child she held in her arms tightened visibly and she began to rock him.

'He said you should come…' I persisted.

'He is a monster!' She shouted and, 'You are too for doing his bidding, leave me in peace, take what you must but leave me and the children!'

'He is no such thing,' I said, 'Why he may not be the best of men, but— '

'And you know this, how?' She interrupted me, 'Are you intimate with him?' She said looking me up and down with suspicion.

'No!' I replied, 'No.' I said more quietly, 'I work with him…'

"'Work with him'" she repeated scornfully, 'What do you know then?'

'I know what I see…' I said.

'Which is exactly what he wants you to.' She replied. She thrust the child at me, I took it. Then she dropped onto her knees at my feet. I tried to pull her up but was impeded by the male child who started crying…

'I beg of you…BEG,' she said, 'Go back to him and tell him you couldn't find me… For my children's sake. I am sorry I called you a monster just now… I see you are a good person… Let that goodness speak to you and pay it heed. Don't do this. Don't, I swear on my children's lives…' As she said this she clasped her hands around her stomach, "that you will endanger us all if you return us to him…"

'Get up. I said quietly, people were beginning to stop and stare at us. 'Get up.' I repeated.

"But rather than do as I asked she reached out and grabbed my foot. 'Please,' she keened, 'Please!'

"I looked around, anxious and embarrassed. 'Very well,' I said, 'Very well. I shall tell him I could not find you…' Was there something to her fear? I really didn't know…

'Thank you, thank you, kind lady,' she exclaimed grovelling even lower.

'Now get up.' I said not at all kindly. She did and I handed the child back to her. 'As you said. I didn't find you, that's what I shall tell him…'

'Thank you, thank you, here, take this…' She proffered something in my direction.

"I did not turn to see what it was. 'Farewell.' I said dryly and walked away.

"Godfrey seated in the tavern appeared to take my news well enough. I told him I had spent two whole days looking and offered to go back again.

"He shook his head, 'No she's gone by now no doubt…' He said sounding resigned, 'Thank you, Aude.'

"About a week later, I received a message from him at The Pearl asking me to come by that evening. This was not at all strange; indeed, it was his usual practice when The Soldiers of the Lion had been given a new assignment.

"When I pushed open the door to The Upstanding Oak I saw Godfrey seated in the exact same place as when I last met him. I had however, a bad feeling, as if I were being watched. Godfrey tugged lightly at his beard. Someone moved behind me and I skidded to one side, a club that should have hit me on the head barely grazed my right shoulder. I drew but they were on me… Several of them, there was nothing I could do…"

"Is that when…" Alistair asked gesturing towards Rous's chest.

"Not exactly, Alistair, you see we're talking about Godfrey here, a mercenary, an astute man…"

"Then what?" Asked Alistair.

Rous clasped her hands in her lap and sat back in the pew. "He sold me, Alistair." She said, "He sold me to Howe."


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter 58**

Dragon 9:35 Nublis/Drakonis Lothering [Present]

Following this they both sat in complete silence in the ruined Chantry for several minutes. Through the hole in the roof just above them, they could hear the restless back and forth and agitated chirping of several birds in the branches of the trees overhead, obviously preparing themselves for the quickly approaching spring.

Eventually Alistair sighed and, leaning forward, kissed the nape of Rous's neck, and said, "This Godfrey… What happened to him?"

Rous tugged at a loose braid, "Fergus asked me the exact same thing… I don't know…"

Then after a while more she said, "Now that I've started I think I really have to finish, then you'll know everything that happened." Her clasped hands were twisting in her lap, "Get it out of the way once and for all, so I don't have to revisit it ever again… At least intentionally."

Alistair nodded, "If you wish, it's getting a bit late but I don't think this is something that's appropriate to do on the move. The inn is open, its name's been changed, though. I'm sure we can stay the night there and then set off early tomorrow…"

"This place somehow feels right for this." Commented Rous.

"I agree."

"Sit next to me…"

"Of course." Alistair moved next to her and caught one of her hands in his. She clung to it tightly.

"Thanks." Rous stretched, arching her body back from the waist and then began in a whisper.

"I have no idea how Godfrey found out who I was. As I said, he had perceived the patterns in my assignments for the Soldiers of the Lion. Perhaps that's what spurred him to make further enquiries. Perhaps someone saw me and recognised me, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility. Perhaps I made one too many visits to Charbelle and information was extracted from her under the guise of a friendly chat.

"Neither do I know how he found out what had happened at the port. Maybe he _was_ a spy after all with connexions everywhere after all…

"Once I had been restrained Godfrey stalked up and backhanded me across the mouth cursing me for letting his wife and babes elude him. Then he told me what was going to happen to me.

"I was dumbstruck.

"He, on the other hand, seemed delighted by his own cleverness.

'So you see,' He crowed placing a coy finger on my newly swollen lip, '_Lady_ Cousland, I get my revenge, make some profit and you become someone else's problem. What more could I ask for?'

'My friends… My friends will find out and avenge me…' I spluttered.

'Your friends? What friends? _I am_ probably the best one you had… Isn't that funny? And you let me down and lied to me.' He made a gesture.

'I'm…' Someone stuffed a rag in my mouth and wrapped a cloth around my face. My leathers were stripped from me almost faster than I could blink, leaving me in linen long johns and a chemise. My hands were clamped behind my back with tight manacles.

"Godfrey kissed my forehead. 'Goodbye, my _dearest_ Lady Cousland, it was sweet getting to know you.' And then he turned his back on me.

"Before I was thrust threw the tavern door, someone threw a dark cloak over me. I did not imagine it was for my comfort, rather it was to better camouflage me in the dusk.

"Something very rational in me told me I should preserve my strength so I did not struggle when they dragged me away or while they conveyed me through the dark streets of Denerim. There were at least four or five of them and they surrounded me so there was no hope of dumbly appealing to any bystanders for help, should there be any. We passed a few patrols but they ignored us, we just looked like any other boisterous group, I suppose… However, when we came within sight of the walls of the Arl of Denerim's estate my courage faltered.

"It was if an icy fist had suddenly clenched my heart and my legs gave way from under me. This caused my escorts not a little amusement, 'Not so uppity now, is she?' being one of the comments I recall…

"I was handed over at the front door of the manor house and before leaving one of the mercenaries was considerate enough to shake the money pouch in my face so I could hear the clink of the coins whereby my life had been purchased.

"Two burly guards hauled me through a large entry hall my feet scraping the floor. It was very well illuminated, there weren't many people around but in one corner a man in the household troop uniform though a little more ornate than those of the guards holding me, was talking quietly to two women who appeared from their modest dress to be servants.

"As we passed them I screeched under my gag and struggled a little and the man turned around. For a brief moment our gazes locked… I saw a pair of chill grey eyes. A wisp of straight blond iron-threaded hair fell over his forehead from under his silver helmet, matching his thick moustache in hue. His face was surrounded by several deep vertical lines as if it were sinking towards his skull.

"_I knew him, I knew him…_ but for the life of me at that moment I couldn't place him… As they frogmarched me down a hallway I realised he was a former member of our guards in Highever. Some help he would be to me now, _the turncoat,_ I thought.

"I'd never visited inside of the Arl of Denerim's estate but from the many corridors, ornaments and bright silk carpets I saw along the way, it was almost as grandiose as Highever. Quite an acquisition for Howe.

"Eventually after a fair few minutes we came to a stop outside a strong looking double door. One of the guards knocked and there was a muffled reply from within.

"The door opened and I was shoved forward, falling on my knees onto the hard tiles, I yelped under my gag.

'Well, well,' said Howe in his familiar vinegar tones, 'Who do we have here? Bryce Cousland's little spitfire. All grown up and still playing the man.'

"With an effort I got to my feet, glowering at him. He was lying on the bed to my left. Fully clothed, some fine embroidery on his tunic, slippers, I noted. His ankles crossed. The person who had opened the door, a mage by his robes, stood warily to his right.

'Loosen the gag, let's see what the little whore has to say for herself…' He said, he was pale; the bags under his eyes seemed larger than I recalled, his hair thinner, his nose, pointier… He looked more like a sewer rat than ever.

"One of my escorts took a step behind me and brutally jerked my head back before releasing the restraint from the back of my skull. I spat the cloth in my mouth on the floor.

'So refined, Lady Cousland,' he taunted. 'Or should I call you "pup" like dadda, or "bitch", perhaps?' He said sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

'YOU MOTHERFUCKING, FUCKING MURDEROUS, FUCKING BASTARD...'

"One of the guards aimed a fist at my stomach and I crumpled to the floor once again, fighting for breath and gasping with pain, my chest doubled over my knees.

'Remove that cape…' Ordered Howe and it was done, 'My darling Rosaura,' He added unctuously, 'Your tits are hanging out…'

"They weren't; but in truth the shirt left little to the imagination…

Despite my knees still throbbing from my first fall, my anger allowed me to jump to my feet and charge him with a roar… Surprised, the mage backed away… A foot was stuck out and tripped me so I fell face first into his lap.

'Poor little pup, you're sooooooo eager,' Howe said stroking the back of my head. Up close under his oversweet perfumes he smelt sick and sour…

"I was aiming for his balls but instead my teeth sunk into the inside of his left leg. Even through his clothing it must have been painful enough judging by his scream.

"The had to pry me off him, I was growling like an animal, I didn't know I was capable of such savagery.

"They forced me to kneel in front of him and restrained me, he was wincing and rubbing his leg, a dark stain had began to spread under his breeches, I noticed.

"He leaned forward just out of my reach, and said quietly, 'Little bitch, your parents died on their knees begging for their lives. Your brother's brat was burned on a scrap heap, along with his Antivan whore of a wife. And what's left? You. A fool, an empty shell of a daughter… Daughter?' He laughed, he had a rich laugh, he was thoroughly enjoying this, 'More like a rabid animal now than a human… This is pointless... You've lost.'

'There is no such thing as losing… No such thing…' I raged.

"He sat back. 'What a strange thing to say, Lady Cousland… Dying in a considerable amount of pain having first endured considerable humiliation, which is what is about to happen to you, pretty much adds up to losing in my book… Such a pity that due to an important, but alas, inconvenient visitor I'm going to have to have you dispatched by tomorrow morning.'

'You bastard, you miserable fucking bastard… I curse you, I…'

'Oh this is getting tedious… Take her down and get on with it…' Howe said peevishly addressing the guards and waving a hand in the air.

"I was yanked up into a standing position. 'I might pay you a visit later, Lady Cousland, but then again I might not…' Howe said, 'Women always scream and beg a bit too much for my tastes.'

"As they were dragged me towards a little side door, Howe turned to the mage and said, 'Dear Maker… And that's just the daughter… I would much prefer to get my hands on the elder Cousland… There were rumours that he had perished at Ostagar, but…'

"Just as the door slammed behind us the import of those words hit me, _Fergus lived! Fergus was alive…_

"And I was as good as dead…"

* * *

Rous' head hung almost to her chest. Alistair put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed and then kissed her earlobe. "If you wish…"

Rous looked at him. "Oswyn told me he spoke to you, described—"

"He did."

"I see." Rous averted her eyes again.

Evening had begun to fall and the birds were silent. It was getting cold. Rous pulled her cape tighter around her.

"I don't really have much to add. Tales of mistreatment… I've heard several, they're all the same, including my own.

"I was horrified when they appeared to be hauling me towards the rack… There was something about the thought of being broken on a rack that…" Rous licked her lips.

"I was almost relieved when we went past it and they released my manacles to chain my hands above me… It didn't matter I told myself, _Fergus was alive…_

"They stripped off my shirt and this time my breasts did flop forward, but it didn't matter because_ Fergus was alive…_

"I tried to concentrate on that.

"And then the whip lashed at my back for the first time and I could think of nothing else but the pain…

"The point, I guess, about flagellation is that the pain it causes is incremental… I never understood that before.

"Forgetting all pride, I wept and writhed on the chains but just as I seemed to have reached some plateau of barely tolerable anguish I was struck again… and this time the agony was worse.

"I wet myself after the fourth stroke.

"When I fainted, as I eventually did, they revived me by dunking my head in a bucket. Because your body never lets you drown or suffocate if it can possibly avoid it.

"Another thing I learned.

"The pain crests, you begin to lose consciousness… For a very brief moment, just before you go down, you feel calm and blissfully happy… The next thing you know, you're drowning and that's painful too but in a different way, your lungs are bursting… There is this horrible pressure building up inside you, it feels as though your chest is going to explode, your eyes hurt, and you panic, your body jerks… And then there's a tug upwards and you're allowed to take a breath again…

"It is excruciatingly cruel because the pain is interspersed with very brief but real moments of pain-free joy… Which make you want to live…

"And then, well, they use the whipping to soften you for the abuse…

"That's another kind of pain: humiliation. You have more time to think. To become conscious of enormity of what is being done to you. Most of the time it was very direct and very brutal. But sometimes, and this is ironically worse, it was almost gentle…

"Conscious doesn't mean fully aware, though… You hear someone shouting and begging and saying, 'NO, NO, PLEASE NO, DON'T, NO…' and you say to yourself, 'They're _really_ having a bad time of it,' then you realise the person shouting is _you_…

"When at last they tired of me I was left lying on the floor with my eyes closed tight. It was sooooooo cold… Everything was sore and hurt I was covered with sticky fluids.

"I think what happened to…" Rous gestured towards her right breast, "Was meant to be a fatal blow… I don't know whether I saw the actual sword descending to gut me or whether I imagined I saw it. Be that as it may, at the last moment I jerked out of the way, it seems… So only part of me was pierced…

"As that happened my last thought wasn't 'Maker!' or 'Andraste have mercy!' but… _Fergus is alive…_"

"And then there was darkness for a while and that was good…

* * *

"Somewhat later I recovered a semblance of consciousness and could hear a rough male voice snarling just above me, 'I'll take care of her, Howe's orders… What you don't trust me boy? I _hated_ those bastards… Hated them.'

I was kicked in the small of the back, I had no voice left so I just mewled like a helpless kitty refusing to open my eyes, 'See? Now get out!' Said the same voice.

* * *

Rous leaned forward folding her hands on the back of the next pew down and rested her chin on them. "Someone dumped me at the door of the Chantry in the early hours of the morning… They used to keep it open at all times but they started locking it at night after it was vandalised and profaned a few months previously… I was told that it sounded as if the door were being kicked by heavy boots… Not a strange occurrence for Denerim in those days, apparently… After a few minutes a Templar came down and opened it because one of the Mothers heard me moaning. I was a shivering naked mess quaking under a cloak… So they tell me.

"Charbelle recognised me the following afternoon, once the novices had cleaned me up. She looked after me, Alistair, nursed me day and night. Never left my side even when the Darkspawn were rampaging through Denerim; I was considered too sick to evacuate so she stayed with me. I owe her everything I am today…

"It was also her idea to take me to the… to _your,_ coronation. She thought it might make me feel better. I could barely stand so she was holding me up throughout. They dressed me in a initiate's robe, they had nothing else, my hair had been shorn after they found me so they could determine if I had any head wounds…

"I recall being fairly bemused at the proceedings, all the bright colours and the hubbub of noise, not quite understanding what was going on…"

"Huh," said Alistair, "That day was very much the same for me, utter confusion… Weird isn't it?"

"Those were strange days…"

"Yes, they were indeed."

"And then someone walked past our little group of initiates and said 'Revered Mothers', so we all giggled… And then… I recognised him… I nearly fainted… Charbelle started saying 'What's the matter Rous? Rous…' but all I could croak was 'Fergus, Fergus…' and make a grab for his sleeve.

"For a moment he looked at me and didn't seem to recognise me… He even made a move to detach my fingers from his clothing… I felt wretched, _suppose this was all a dream, suppose I'd never had a brother called Fergus, that I had gone mad…_

"And then his face sort of cracked up… And I knew everything would be fine. That instant of recognition was the best moment of my life… Without a doubt…"

Rous sighed, it was a sigh or relief, and she leaned back into Alistair's arms. "So now you know… That's really all there is to it…"

He held her for a while, hugging her shoulders and then said, "You know, we need to claim our room in that inn."

"Of course we do." Rous got up. "Ow! I'm really stiff… Must be horse riding followed by sitting here for so long… and the cold."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine and you don't need to help me walk or anything… Just put your arm around me again…"

Alistair kissed her briefly and they crossed the little bridge together.

"I'm not very hungry tonight." Said Rous.

"Neither am I particularly. Let's get the room sorted out, then I'll see to the horses and we can have an early night…"

When they got to the tavern door Rous asked, "It was called 'Dane's Rest' before, wasn't it?"

"That's right."

"So what's it called now, then?"

Alistair pointed upwards at the new sign with a picture of a crown on it swinging above their heads. "'The King's Rest'" she said, and smiled briefly. "How apt."


	59. Chapter 59

**Chapter 59**

Dragon 9:35

Nublis/Drakonis The West Road/Denerim/Val Royeaux [Present]

"Now," Alistair reassured one-year old Niamh, whom he was dandling on his lap and who was busy sucking three of her fingers, "contrary to appearances, mommy Bregeth is _not_ trying to kill auntie Rous… They are just… Pretend fighting… That's all… So don't let it worry you…"

"We are keeping—" said Rous, who appeared to be running very quickly out of breath since she was being held by Bregeth in an arm lock on the ground, "fit."

"Yes," said Alistair, "they are both keeping fit."

Bregeth pointedly did not say anything.

It was Alistair's impression that despite their efforts Niamh was deeply unconvinced by this explanation, she appeared to be watching Rous and Bregeth tussle with rapt attention, waving her free arm in the air and making the occasional boisterous but incomprehensible comment.

They have departed early the previous day but were already well behind schedule and Alistair had begun to regret not bringing an additional horse as he now thought it would have made the travelling back less stressful overall.

During their stay at the Dalish camp, Alistair and Rous had gone to some lengths to assist Niamh and Bregeth with getting used to the horses. However, there is only so much acclimatisation that can be done with a young child and a recalcitrant elf. Niamh seemed to enjoy riding on the horses' backs well enough and actually cried when they took her down but since she was only a toddler she did not have the best balance and was totally oblivious to the dangers of falling.

Alistair was carrying her himself in a leather chain mail-covered sling on his back. It would have been easier and more interesting for her if he could have carried her on his chest, then she could have looked forward, but he deemed this was too dangerous and too exposed. He couldn't really blame her for getting bored and crotchety as she was only able to see the back of his neck.

As for Bregeth, who was to sit behind Rous on Hope, she had maintained that the elven pelvis was too narrow for horse riding.

"But don't your people ride halla?" objected Alistair.

"Of course they do, Shem," replied Bregeth, "and I do myself, however horses are different, their backs are wider. It's not natural for an elf."

Alistair may have been a mere beginner student when it came to Dalish culture, however even he was aware that 'not natural' was one of the most serious objections that could be made.

During the first leg of their journey today, he'd sensed things getting a little testy between the two women. He had overheard some abrupt exchanges followed by awkward silences. So much so that every now and then he felt compelled to stop by or look back and ask, "Is everything all right?"

The answer was either a blank stare or a terse, "Yes." which did nothing to reassure him.

Therefore, when they had all stopped for a break in a little grassy glade just off the West Road and Rous had suggested she do some sparring with Bregeth so they could both release a little pent un energy he had agreed happily enough so long as they did not scare the horses.

It was barely a few seconds after they had both grabbed twigs which were meant to stand in for knives, squatted down and began to snarl at and circle each other that he had realised just how great a mistake he had made.

Meanwhile Rous had been able to slip out of the arm lock.

"Oh, foul, foul… Bregeth, no hair pulling…" Called Alistair.

"If your female did not unadvisedly leave her hair lose for fighting because she is seeking to entice you, I would have no hair to pull…" Remarked Bregeth.

"I am not…" Denied Rous, but Alistair did notice that she'd flushed a little, so perhaps there was something to what Bregeth had said after all. He pursed his lips.

"Anyway, we agreed there was no such thing as a foul…" Added Bregeth.

"And you made me arbiter, I say foul, it's a foul…" Said Alistair very firmly, "Besides that is absurd, how is there going to be no foul? You're not going to gorge each other's eyes out are you?"

It took him far too long to realise that he had just made a second mistake. "Oh Maker… Please forget I even said that…"

They scuffled a little more and then called a truce. Bregeth gestured for him to hand her Niamh and he did. "Now it's your turn. I will arbitrate."

"Please no." Said Alistair appalled by the idea.

"C'mon Ali, don't be such a bloody spoilsport…" Said Rous at her feisty best arm punching him and handing him his twig.

He sighed, "If you insist…"

Rous was good at feints and fast but not a patch on Lawler. Neither was Lady Cousland a Lady Helmi: she lacked the out and out aggressiveness and the low centre of gravity, although she wasn't lagging far behind in insouciance. Alistair was aware throughout their sparring of his heavier build and the overweening advantage it gave him. Therefore, for a while he played along and let her amuse herself, amusing _himself_ by watching her attempts at harrying him and then, before his credibility became an issue, he made a lunge, pinning her to the ground. Rous flailed.

According to the rules of sparring at that point, he should have levelled his twig at her throat and compelled her to yield, but there was no way he was doing that. He threw the twig into the underbrush whilst still keeping her down. Oh, her squirming beneath him as she tried to wiggle away felt so sweet, his body was responding to it. Before he knew it, he was kissing her passionately. After a tentative struggle and some rather pointless pounding of his back with her fists, which only made him laugh, Rous reciprocated.

They were so involved that it wasn't until Bregeth cleared her throat that they realised that, still holding Niamh, she was standing just above them studying them carefully and arching her eyebrows.

"Round one to Alistair." She declared, and then, "This poor elf does not presume to understand the strange game these Shems are playing with each other; However, she does allow herself to observe that it seems there is something they both need to get out of their systems…"

Alistair glanced up at her, "Could you please give us a moment Bregeth?"

"Of course."

"Thanks."

Alistair got off Rous and extended her a hand to her help her get to her feet and began to brush himself down. "Sorry about that," he said, "excitement getting the better of me… Again. You're too attractive that's your problem… Or is it mine?"

"You've got nothing to be sorry about" said Rose brushing herself off in turn, "but I think Bregeth is right, this is becoming ridiculous."

Alistair straightened up, "Day after tomorrow we should be getting back to Denerim, two days after that, suppose we meet at around noon on the roof of Fort Drakon? There is one last thing I have to tell you, something serious, but I need to do it in the right place. Then it will be up to you to make up your mind as to what happens next."

He leaned over, stroked her cheek and added quietly, "Rous, I want you very much but I don't want to have a relationship with you under force pretences of any kind. You've been completely honest with me and I am under a duty to reciprocate. Nothing else would be fair; you've already suffered far too much."

Rous bit her lip and nodded.

"One other thing… is everything well between you and Bregeth? I was… I'm not very good at balancing out all the people around me."

"Bregeth's all right." Said Rous, "We're really just getting to know each other a little better, testing our limits."

"Well, much as I might enjoy imagining girls fighting sometimes, if you could do that without pulling each other's hair out, growling and rolling on the ground, I'd be much happier."

Rous laughed, "Point taken. I think we both just needed to relax a little."

After they set off again he began to regret saying anything about it. The sparring seemed to have worked and Bregeth and Rous were now as thick as thieves. Alistair got the distinct impression that he was their main subject of conversation. It was discomforting. They were casting some rather intense glances in his direction and whispering among themselves. After a little while, Bregeth even began to groom Rous by delicately picking leaves and other woodland debris out of her locks while they rode, talked and giggled. When they'd arrived at the inn three hours later Bregeth was still very busy.

* * *

Two days later, back in Denerim and having settled Niamh and Bregeth in their new home, which was just a few doors down from their old one, Alistair returned to his workroom in the palace to find his desk cluttered with correspondence. Heaving a sigh, he started sifting through it, putting the stuff in three piles, 'urgent', 'action required' and 'information'.

The only thing that really caught his attention was a letter from Fergus Cousland. Fergus' handwriting was untidy and irregular. The letter began 'Your Majesty', but several thick, deep scores had been drawn through this and then Fergus had written instead 'Dear Alistair 'and stuck with that.

'Please find enclosed...' a quick scan of the letter revealed that Fergus had finally got round to drafting his account of the time he'd spent among the Chasind in the Kocari Wilds and had sent Alistair a first copy. Alistair put it carefully to one side because at that moment he had more urgent matters to which to attend. However, before retiring that evening he picked it up again and took it to his bedchamber.

He began reading the memoir which what some sixty pages long just before sleeping that night instead of the dull as ditchwater but necessary reading matter that he usually imposed on himself, or, the more raunchy stuff that he tended to favour (occasionally) as a private treat.

He found it riveting, and he was perusing it for far longer than he should have done given that the next day was going to be a busy one.

In his covering letter, Fergus explained that encouraged by Oswyn, they had gone to visit Ferdinand Genitivi at his home in the Denerim market district. The Teyrn and the Chantry Brother, renowned scholar and travel writer, appeared to have hit it off famously and a visit to the tavern was followed by a nightlong discussion about different cultures and customs that Fergus described as 'amazingly inspiring'. Late the next day he had started his own memoir and Brother Genitivi had very kindly agreed to edit it.

Alistair managed to finish reading the rest of the chronicle the following day by taking odd moments out between appointments, audiences and other official business. He found it very rewarding both as an insight into the Chasind and into the mind of Fergus Cousland. There were a several very explicit passages. Obviously, honesty about emotional and other needs was a Cousland trait that the siblings shared.

He was particularly struck by the conclusions that Fergus reached in the epilogue:

_"And so it was that I spent almost ten months living among the Chasind a peoples often described as savage, wild and uncivilised. Then I returned to Denerim…_

_I found out that in my absence my family had been cruelly slaughtered, including my three-year-old child and my property and my possessions usurped by the murderer; a person of purported 'noble' blood who had been a guest of my parents._

_My beautiful sister who had gone missing was subsequently captured by the same monster and most brutally treated. Thank the Maker, she survived. With some honourable exceptions, this situation had been accepted by my peers and endorsed by those then in a position of power._

_Barbaric and uncultivated the Chasind may be, but they honour the duties of hospitality and such murderous behaviour would not be tolerated among them. I think the time may have come in which we Fereldans should seriously question our own values and opinions of other peoples, especially when we so casually describe such values as uncivilized or inferior to our own."_

An intelligent and controversial conclusion, he thought. Somehow, it made him a little happier that Fergus Cousland was officially first in line for the throne. He would be seeing Fergus the following week at the Landsmeet, he must not forget to compliment him, and, of course, he was having a meeting with Rous on the morrow.

It was late. He needed to sleep, although he doubted he would, given how concerned he was about that pending conversation. He wondered, idly, for a moment, what were Fergus's thoughts on his sister's new dreadlocks?

* * *

Neriya had been sitting in front of the empty parchment for well nigh on an hour now at the grey warden compound in Val Royeaux. In that time, her right hand had occasionally hovered towards the inkwell and then retreated firmly back to her lap. In the background, she could hear Cullivan's voice long-sufferingly issuing instructions regarding the preparations for their journey to the circle at Kirkwall.

The purpose was for Neriya to increase her arcane magic knowledge. The circle's Chief Enchanter, an elf named Orsino, arcane magic was generally deemed to be an elven specialisation, had written back to say that he would welcome the chance to assist a member of the order.

Cullivan had adjusted surprisingly well to being a Grey Warden, and was respected more for being aloof and reserved than for being openly her partner, which was a good thing for both of them. Even from this distance, she could detect that his voice had just reached its ultra-patient mode. This meant that any minute now she would be hearing his hurried footsteps on the staircase, the door would be thrown open and she would have to deal with a minor fit of temper and plentiful cursing in Dalish about clumsy, uncouth Shems and their ways.

Time was running short she had to put together this letter to Alistair. He deserved no less and in any event, Quentin Du Plessis had virtually ordered her to do it.

A few weeks' ago she had finally pinned the Commander of the Grey in Orlais down, "This friend you keep saying I remind you of… Her name didn't happen to be Fiona, did it?"

Quentin had looked away and started stroking his dog Michelle.

"I see." Neriya had said, "Alistair's mother…"

"Yes." Said Du Plessis, "His mother. She always regretted deeply… Well that's all in the past now, isn't it?" He raised his shoulders and let them fall. He seemed sad.

"Do I have to tell Alistair—"

"_Non._ Not necessary. He already knows, he made his own enquiries some months back and the order responded to them."

"Ah."

_Strange, strange, what did Alistair make of it when he found out? _she wondered,_ what did he think? Would he have pretended he didn't know? _

She almost snorted aloud. _Of course, not, he was resilient; eventually he would take it on board and carry on, just as he had done when they were struggling against the Blight. Just as he had when he fell in love with her. Just as he had when she left him. He was a fighter and he confronted things directly, saw them through and moved on, however inconvenient or painful… It simply wasn't in his nature to deny them… Their daughter was in good hands; she would have much more assuredness and stability being brought up by someone like Alistair rather than by a waverer like herself… _

_The exception being Morrigan and her ritual._

And that had been her fault._ She owed him… She owed her daughter too…_

She picked up the quill, took a breath and wrote:

'Dear Alistair, I really hope this letter finds you in a better frame of mind than when we last saw each other. I must begin by apologising both to you and our daughter…'

That was the easy part; the difficult bit would be what followed.


	60. Chapter 60

**Chapter 60**

Dragon 9:35 Eluviesta/Cloudreach Denerim [Present]

When Alistair arrived on the roof of Fort Drakon at about half past eleven, he was very surprised to see a familiar figure leaning over the parapet looking down at the city below. Rous was dressed like a boy again, with matching dark breeches and a dark surcoat over a white shirt. He smiled to himself, he was really beginning to love her fluctuating way of dressing, and he wondered whether it was attuned to her mood. She turned around as if she had sensed his approach and he waved to her briefly, she returned the wave.

That day was dull and overcast especially for spring, the sky almost opaque white, there was a coldish wind blowing from the South.

"You're early," he said as he reached her, he noted she looked pale, and her face was slightly pinched, there were darkish arcs under her eyes. He guessed his own face looked similarly haggard.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, "I was worried, Alistair."

"Ah," he said leaning on the wall next to her and smiling weakly. "I'm sorry. I see you kept the dreadlocks "he said clasping and fingering one of the crinkly braids that had fallen loose.

Rous turned round so he could see that most of the rest were held in place by the ironbark knife.

"Do you keep that knife under your pillow at night?" He asked. "Bregeth does."

"Really?" Asked Rous.

"Oh yes. I remember on one occasion I had to wake her up and she went for it, nearly got it in my hand or arm or somewhere worse…"

"Anyway I thought I'll keep my hair like this until after the Landsmeet. And I think I might go dressed like this, too." She said posing flirtatiously, raising her chin, her right hand behind her head.

"Dreadlocks and dressed like a boy," he remarked, "You're going to get a lot of attention."

"Alistair, are you jealous?"

"Will I have a reason to be?"

Rous laughed and he knew she wasn't going to reply to that. Then, collecting herself she asked seriously, "What is it you have to tell me?"

He shook his head, "you know how it is when you have it all prepared in your mind? And then you don't know where to begin? Well that's how I feel now," he said.

"Fergus always says to begin from the beginning."

"That's fine if you know where the beginning IS," he pointed out. "This is such a mess."

"Start with the simplest thing, then." Rous said.

"The plaque," said Alistair turning towards the roof and pointing, to the black marble plaque, "Do you know why I put it there?"

"You tell me." She said looking towards it.

"One of the first things I did as King was put that plaque there. Because I want Ferelden to remember _always_ that one day it was saved by an elven mage, a golem, a drunken dwarf, an Antivan assassin, an awkward Qunari, an Orlesian bard, a bastard almost Templar and even an apostate bitch…"

Rous raised her eyebrows but Alistair continued, "The dregs of society, in other words. Most of who were not even Fereldan. Because they, WE were BRAVE because we BELIEVED, we saved the humble and the poor, and children but we also saved the arrogant nobles. Only us." He was getting carried away in his passion, angry almost.

"Alistair, I don't follow…"

"Who are you, Rous?"

"Why… I'm me, Rous, Rosaura… Lady Cousland, I guess."

"Exactly. The enemy…"

"The enemy?" She frowned, "Me? You're not making sense, Alistair."

"You're a noblewoman. We were scum. I'm scum."

"Alistair…"

"Maker assist me, I want you so much." He paused. "But on my unworthy shoulders has fallen the obligation to make something of this country. Rous, your class, it seems to me, have done nothing for the poor and underprivileged for centuries, and now it's up to me, a lowly bastard, to try and fix that."

"You know, Alistair, you sound so much like Fergus." She said thoughtfully.

He was mildly surprised, he rubbed the back of his head "I read his essay. It was unexpectedly lucid."

"You may think of yourself as scum, Alistair, and Fergus may be a grandee of Ferelden, but there are commonalities." Rous pressed.

He nodded. "I'll give you that. At the beginning.… Before Ostagar I mean, I said once sarcastically that there was 'nothing like a Blight to bring people together '; because it seemed to me then that I was living in the midst of a fractured and divided society. But now, those words may have come true. For some of us at least. What I was trying to say, Rous, is that if we are with each other, sometimes it's going to be difficult, get nasty. I think Neriya saw that clearer that I did."

"I think you underestimate me, Alistair," Rous turned her hands palm up in front of her and looked at them, "after what I have been through, criticism is nothing."

He nodded, "that may be the case. But it may not _only_ be criticism. Ferelden is still unstable, should something happen… To me, to Anora. Politics, I mean… you could be dragged into it."

"That is a risk I'm more than willing to take.…" She looked at him her jaw set, lips pursed.

"I'd so hoped and feared you would say that." Alistair said softly, "But what would Fergus…"

"Fergus supports you, well you and Anora, though Anora a little less; but, anyway, should something happen, we'd be dragged into it just the same."

He nodded. "Well, I guess that was the first thing, the most obvious point… Unfortunately, I'm not finished yet."

He looked over towards the plaque again and pulled himself together crossing his arms over his chest. "Some of the things you have said, I can identify with. Do you remember a remark that you made in Lothering about a good death? I should have died over there. Actually, I did, well not entirely …"

Rous looked puzzled.

"Let me explain. It all started after we had killed Howe, one of the prisoners we released was a senior Orleisian grey warden called Riordan. Before the Blight started, I had only been a grey warden for about six months, there were a lot of things I didn't know and Duncan died standing next to Cailan at Ostagar before he could tell me.

"Well, when we were gathering our forces in Redcliffe prior to marching on Denerim to attempt to stop the horde, that night, Riordan asked to speak to Neriya and me. In essence he told us that in order to slay the Archdemon once and for all, the grey warden delivering the final blow also had to die…"

Alistair shook his head.

"I never knew this, Rous, not even imagined… There is some complicated theological explanation that I still can't quite grasp, something about the Archdemon's soul migrating on death to the nearest tainted body, which would be that of the warden. Apparently, when it does this, it discovers that it cannot inhabit the warden, a being who is not a darkspawn, and its soul is destroyed, together with the warden's… If there is no warden, it goes to the nearest darkspawn and is reborn anew and the Blight continues. This is why as wardens we accept the taint into ourselves…

"At the point that Riordan told us this there were only three grey wardens in the whole of Ferelden: us, in that room. Riordan was honourable he assured us that as the eldest, the senior warden, his was the responsibility to strike the final blow and that he would do so if he could. But equally, should he fail, it would be down to either I or Neriya.

"Neriya looked sick, quite sick. She glanced at me, her eyes seemed swollen, her lips blanched and her face had a greenish tint to it. I wondered whether she was more fearful for herself or for me.

"As for myself, as soon as the words left Riordan's mouth I was determined the person who gave their life should be me. All the pieces of my haphazard existence seemed to come together for me at that moment. This was why I was conceived, a spare, this was why I was shoved into the Templars; this was why I had passed the joining. It was destiny. _My_ destiny. I, the bastard that no-one would miss would be the one to slay that thing that threatened the whole of Thedas…"

Alistair sighed.

"But there was a catch, wasn't there? I should never have… I should never… Have loved Neriya. Given myself to her, accepted her in return. Maker forgive me, Andraste have mercy, I should have done what a good soldier would have done: kept myself at a distance. Retained my virtue, my purity. The affection that had sustained me for months, given me courage and purpose… I shouldn't have shared it with her… Just used it and done my duty to the last.

"Riordan fully understood the impact such news would have on us and suggested we retire to prepare ourselves for what was to come. I did that, I could see Neriya desperately wanted a kiss or an embrace but I simply nodded at her, there were tears running down her face now and silently she lifted her shoulders and spread her hands in a gesture of hopelessness or entreaty, I shut my chamber door behind me leaving her in the passageway.

"Sometime later, I don't know how much later, there was a knock on my door. Neriya stepped into the room, her expression intent and serious. She explained that she had been approached by Morrigan.

"Morrigan was an apostate who had joined our party early on, just after Ostagar. I couldn't stand the woman, there was something deeply selfish and mendacious about her, quite apart from the fact that she, well, her past seemed full of darkness, she was not right, Morrigan, not right at all. If ever there were a maleficar…

"Well, according to Neriya, she had a solution. The solution involved my lying with Morrigan, conceiving a child… Because I was a grey warden, the child would be immune to the taint…

Rous's eyes widened, and a look of incredulity crept over her features.

Alistair continued, "If I did that, she said, the Archdemon's soul would travel to the child rather than to the warden, in Morrigan's words, 'the child would call out to it like a beacon' and then Morrigan would use the ensouled child for her own ends. My first reaction, of course, was to say 'no', but Neriya begged me…

"Rous, I loved Neriya, more than my life, more than I can say, cherished every inch of her body, every ounce of her flesh… I love her still, wherever she is. And she loved me; it wasn't selfishness that motivated her, no, not at all… One of us was almost certain to die, and the other could not bear the thought of carrying on alone. And we were both young… We were trapped. Trapped by my heedlessness…"

His voice dropped, his head bowed. "Please understand." He'd hoped Rous would respond somehow, react, say something, even place a hand on his arm, but she stood transfixed.

He continued, "I spoke to Morrigan she assured me the child would come to no harm. According to her what had to be done had to be done that very night… Morrigan was not physically unattractive, quite the contrary. But she repelled me and always had, it was as if I could see her shrivelled little soul every time I looked at her face…

"So I lay with her.

"It was ghastly… Our dislike was mutual and she was unkind, she used me wantonly, gleefully… the body responds, but the mind is quite a different matter, and as for feelings…

He glanced at Rous. There seemed to be tears standing in her eyes. "Please don't…" He said quietly. She looked away, blinking.

"I think that is the most unforgivable thing I have done, anything else, really pales in comparison… I conceived a child, I did it to save Neriya's life and my life with Neriya, I don't know if you follow… What I mean to say is, if it had been me alone… or with Riordan and not with my love… I do now believe I would have gone through with it and to that very limited extent, I can forgive myself.

"It's odd, if I'd died, no-one would remember me and, except for Neriya, no-one would have cared. I doubt there'd even be anything to remember me by. It's a very strange sensation to stand here now, as King, and think over all that… I try to do it every now and then, though, because I believe it's good for me, it helps me put things in perspective.

"So you see, when I struck the final blow, Riordan had perished earlier in the battle for Denerim, I should have died over there, in my turn… In fact, I _did_ die, if only for a few seconds… My whole body, sort of seized up, suddenly I couldn't breathe, my lungs had frozen. I felt my heart slowing and then stop beating and become still as a stone in my chest… A horrible feeling. I fell to my knees and heard a rattle emerge from my own constricted throat …

"And then… This is really difficult to describe, I felt my mind being torn apart, a little bit at a time, memories, thoughts, even feelings; goodbye grief, goodbye love… Like it was being ripped or slashed with something really sharp and remorseless, a razor, something like that… But the strange thing was… There was something that was still me beyond that, the last piece of 'me' as it were, something that I never knew I had until that day…"

Alistair paused. "I am hopeless at explaining things like this, I'm sure Neriya would make a far better job of it, it's very frustrating to know what you want to say but not be able to find the right words and to be left babbling like a newborn…

"But then whatever had killed me, shredded me, moved on. Presumably to the child. The innocent I conceived with… _that woman_. That is the worst thing I have done in my life and should I live to be a hundred— ha a hundred, I'll be lucky to see fifty… It will _still_ be the worst thing… I passed, that poisoned chalice, and as a grey warden, I know a thing or two about poisoned chalices, to a child. To an innocent. To MY child, _my child._"

"How old—"

"Three, he or she would be three now…"

"Believe me; it's difficult enough to tell you all this Rous, knowing that you might reject me. But one day, Maker help me, I'm going to have to tell _her_, my other child… Niamh…"

Alistair was silent for a while. Rous stood almost with her back to him looking away, perhaps her lips were moving, he couldn't be sure, it could have been a trick of the light. He took a breath, continued.

"There were other consequences, too. Of course, what happened to me doesn't even begin to compare with what happened to you… or to Oswyn, but… When one is used in that way, against one's basic will either for sport, procreation or to satisfy another's lust, it changes you.

"Something inside you dies, perhaps the belief that physical love is always a manifestation of spiritual love. That is in itself is an absurd belief, of course, but one that I think many of us hold dear nonetheless.

"When you've been through something like that, it marks you; you're never quite the same again.… And no, I'm not comparing what I went through with what you went through, which must have been… Inconceivable. But… Well, I think it coarsened me in a way.

"I had been very proud to surrender my virginity to Neriya as she surrendered hers to me… That was very sweet. And awkward at the same time, a bit funny even… I recall at one point, speaking aloud and trying to convince myself to make love to her rather than just spending the whole night cuddling, kissing and chatting.

"But after what happened with Morrigan things changed. Things changed a lot. I couldn't quite be with Neriya again the way I had been before. Delight changed to discomfort, pleasure to… I kept having these intrusive thoughts. There were things I used to do with her that I could not now bear to do.

"Then things got very hectic. I was declared King. The grey wardens arrested Neriya and I and interrogated us following the slaying of the Archdemon. They suspected something... I had to marry Anora. And a few weeks after that Neriya… left.

"Suddenly I was alone again. Just like before. Just like most of my life. Oh yes, I was a King now, I had a wife, but I didn't want her and she didn't want me. I've never consummated my marriage to Anora, by the way, it just wouldn't… Well.

"So I dallied. I discovered in my present situation that it was very easy to ask for physical gratification and to get it. I felt I needed or deserved it, almost as much as drink. And if I didn't want to ask for it, I just had to loiter in certain quarters of Denerim at night and someone would offer it to me. And now I had plenty of money to pay for it.

"Some of my affairs were more serious than others. Some almost became something else, but for at least two years I was emotionally withdrawn, I just didn't want to get involved because if you got involved, I'd learned, you got hurt.

"And then Neriya returned, I thought it was a turning point, a fresh start. That she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. But she was in two minds about us and eventually made her decision and left. So it happened all over again.

"And there you have it, the intimate story of _glorious_ King Alistair in a nutshell…"

"So where is this child?" Rous asked.

"I have no idea…"

"_You have no idea?_"

Alistair hesitated, "As I said. Morrigan left just after the battle of Denerim… Neriya and I suspected she left for Orlais, and Neriya went in search of her but… No, I don't where that woman is… Or my child."

Rous turned away she was not making eye contact, but looking towards the horizon, beyond the sprawl of Denerim. "This is… This is…" Her hands gripped the edges of the parapet, her knuckles were white, her body rigid.

He detached her hands from the wall and took them in his, holding them tenderly. He studied her face, looking her in the eyes, "Let me tell you what I can offer you," said Alistair, "I pledge to you by my honour and by the Maker that I will be faithful. I will share everything with you, there will be no secrets between us. I will protect you and care for you to the very best of my ability. I will treat you always as an equal and respect your opinion.

"I can't guarantee we will have children, that is beyond my powers and in the lap of the Maker, likewise I cannot say we will have a long life together, but while it lasts I will do my best to ensure our happiness… and make provision for you when I am gone."

Rous exhaled. "Give me time, Alistair, I have to think about this, I have to… Work through it…" She glanced at him from under dark lashes her lips taut, "I'm sorry." She muttered.

"No, don't be." He replied gently releasing her hands. "This is a heavy burden."

Looking away from him again she added, "I'll see you next week at the Landsmeet. Perhaps I'll have an answer for you then, perhaps not… I don't know. Now leave… Please leave."

He kissed the nape of her neck. "Thank you for listening…"

Rous simply shook her head.

He walked away, each step separating him from her taking a deep effort of will; feeling as if he were dying inside all over again.


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter 61**

Dragon 9:35 Eluviesta/Cloudreach [Present]

Denerim

The position of master of ceremonies of the Landsmeet, fell by turn to each noble house. The post could be carried out by the head of the House in question, one of their children, their spouse or even a designated official or servant. Once long ago a fractious bannorn nobleman (from where else would he be?) with intent to insult all his peers and his monarch had appointed the fourteen year-old girl who emptied his chamber pots as master (or mistress) of ceremonies. The chroniclers agreed that she proved to be surprisingly competent, and towards the end of her session someone proposed she should receive a stipend. The house voted to award her twenty-five silver, a princely sum in those days which she later used as a dowry to make a very good marriage.

Today the master of ceremonies happened to be Oswyn of Dragon's Peak appointed by his father old Bann Sighard.

Alistair was wearing charcoal grey, the two mabaris of house Theirin, which he had now permanently adopted as his emblem were embroidered on the left side of his surcoat. Mince, his real live mabari, was trotting at his side, Alistair did not quite understand why he had insisted on taking the hound along over Anora's initial protests, but it seemed right somehow. Perhaps it was because it was his dog who had kept him the most company over the last two weeks and he wanted to find some way to express his gratitude.

When Alistair and Anora entered the hall, Oswyn called the house to attention. There was silence as the monarchs took their seats on the two high-back chairs upholstered in blue leather placed on the elevated dais overlooking the large chamber. Mince obediently sat just to Alistair's left whereas Lawler stood to the back slightly behind the chairs his hands clasped in front of him twitching occasionally. Once she had settled comfortably, Anora quietly signalled to Oswyn declare the session open.

First order of the day was welcome, followed by a quick prayer to the Maker for those who had passed on, including the Bann of Southern who was not mentioned by name, and the presentation new members.

Alistair scanned the chamber and then looked quickly towards where he knew the Couslands were sitting. Fergus seemed engaged in a whispered conversation with peer next to him gesturing animatedly, whereas Rous, whose hand was resting on her brother's arm and who indeed appeared to be wearing male clothing, with her hair still in dreads, may have smiled shyly but certainly lowered her gaze when she saw Alistair seeking her out with his eyes.

Following a brief introduction Agus of Southern stood up to make his maiden speech, he was taller and more serious than the impetuous lad Alistair recalled from some months ago. Unsurprisingly, he seemed nervous. Alistair sat back and appeared to relax, stroking Mince's head, determined to show no concern as regards the possible contents of his oration whereas Anora leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and an expression of concentration on her face. They should have saved their concern, Agus's speech was as bland and general as most in such circumstances were, although he did shoot an unreadable glance in Alistair's direction, just before sitting back down, Alistair smiled briefly at him and joined in the polite applause.

Then Oswyn gave a brief presentation of the facts behind Blanche Brown's claim to the Arling of Southreach, although a summary of the contents of the most relevant documents had already been circulated to those attending.

Full-figured Blanche was looking tense. Alistair's mind turned to when he had met her a few days ago to discuss her entitlement; she had been bold, assertive and outspoken then. She would be at home amongst the nobility, he had thought. She was especially indignant at the way her mother, Dana, had been treated when her uncle, her mother's brother, Arl Bryland had died. Her mother had attempted to see her niece Habren only to be turned away at the gate of her keep by "some puffed-up Orlesian," she said. "It broke her heart, to be so treated," she added, "I am convinced it hastened her own death."

Alistair had already considered the originals of the documents in question quite thoroughly, as had Anora, and the interview was a mere formality. They both independently concluded the claim was good. Alistair had little doubt that any reasonable person would be equally persuaded. And so it proved. As the eldest child of Bryland's disgraced sister, Blanche was confirmed as the new Arlessa and burst into tears when the vote favoured her. Her four children cheered from the popular gallery. Oswyn had prepared a cloak with the Southreach device and draped it over her shoulders before escorting her to her newly allocated seat in the assembly where the peers sitting either side of her quietly congratulated her, smiling in welcome.

They were that to proceed to the second part of the Landsmeet when Fergus Cousland took to his feet. "There is another matter under this section that I wish to raise," He said. Oswyn nodded to him to proceed.

"It is now several years since the blight was quelled" said Fergus, "but there is one Arling in Ferelden that is still vacant… The Arling of Denerim." Fergus paused apparently for dramatic effect, "as all those present would be aware, in recent times this was first held by the late Arl Kendalls, whose only son and heir Vaughan Kendalls irrevocably disgraced himself by assaulting and kidnapping several citizens of the alienage, a heinous crime by any account. Said Vaughan subsequently disappeared, as did many citizens during the Blight, this being the reason why it remains unallocated..."

Alistair glanced at Anora who shrugged, from which Alistair deduced that she had no idea where this was going either.

"And then of course," Fergus continued, "The Arling was usurped as was my own Teyrnir of Highever, by one Rendon Howe. I will not go into the detail of the many infamies committed by that person. My proposal today is as follows, that all entitlement to the Arling be removed from both the Kendalls and the Howes and their descendants. In fact, I must say as an aside that one of my advisers has pointed out the Howes never held it legitimately in the first place... Be that as it may, the reason for proposing their removal is the that the holders disgraced themselves by the most reprehensible and abusive forms behaviour committed upon their fellow citizens and have shown themselves unworthy of such a title. I will then put to the assembly that the title Arl of Denerim be bestowed upon one…" Fergus raised his eyes from the parchment before him and glanced towards the dais, "Alistair Theirin, current King of this realm."

Shocked, Alistair jerked upright in his seat and then turning quickly whispered urgently to Anora, "Maker's breath! I had no idea, I was not consulted. I swear it." Anora whose eyebrows were raised, placed her hand over Alistair's in reassurance. "The Couslands are well known for embarking on frolics of their own," she muttered back.

"Ser Alistair, as is well known, is a commoner, and I intend no insult by pointing that out, although he has some royal blood from an indirect source…"

Alistair could not avoid rolling his eyes at this turn of phrase, Fergus's lips twitched, he seemed to have caught the gesture but he continued, "He is the first person in many centuries to be a sovereign of Ferelden without holding a title other than that of monarch. Since he has now been in power for some four years and has not in that time troubled himself to either steal, usurp or create one…"

There were a few guffaws from those assembled at this point and Fergus paused until they had died down, "I suggest that it falls to this Landsmeet to compel him to take one and enlist him in our ranks, whether he likes it or not..."

"Now there's cheek for you" said Anora but he noted there was something resembling a smile playing on her lips. Alistair reflected ruefully that suddenly everybody appeared to be having some fun at his expense.

"... Apart from anything else, not having a title gives him no right to vote in our proceedings, should he ever wish to do such a thing. I further suggest that the title in question be that of Arl of Denerim, which pertains to our noble ever suffering capital city that he helped save from total destruction in Dragon 9:31."

"As a consequence I would therefore ask the Landsmeet this morning to put to vote three things: Firstly to remove entitlement to the Arling of Denerim from the Kendalls, secondly to remove the same from the Howes and thirdly to bestow it upon the aforementioned Ser Alistair."

Alistair leaned towards Anora, "I don't think I should remain in the chamber for any of these votes... Would you agree?" Anora nodded, gestured to Oswyn and then when he approached whispered to him. Oswyn eventually announced, "His Majesty the King is excusing himself from this meeting until the three votes proposed by Teyrn Fergus are concluded."

Alistair stood and so did the Landsmeet attendees though he waved them down before leaving the assembly chamber with Mince at his heels.

Once outside he judged it best to stay within the general area, he did not have much idea as to how long the proceedings would take. So he found one of the stone benches placed in the passageways surrounding the chamber and sat himself down with Mince at his feet.

The corridors were abuzz with servants from the diverse noble households running on errands hither and thither for their masters and mistresses, nevertheless not a few of them stopped to look at him and then moved on when he ignored them. After a few minutes a serving girl approached him and asked him if he would like some refreshment Alistair asked for some water if that was not too much trouble.

He was just beginning to get very bored when someone came up and leaned on the wall next to him.

"I am so sorry," Said Rous, "I had no idea he was going to do this..."

Alistair shrugged, "I'll just have to grin and bear it, I guess..."

"I feel bad; it may have been me who gave him the idea... I didn't tell him anything about our conversation the other day except for that bit where you called yourself scum and said _we_ were the enemy…" She paused, "Fergus… He grinned and said something like, 'Aye, I see where he's coming from, perhaps we ought to fix that…'"

"Don't worry yourself about it, Rous." Said Alistair, "But…"

Rous bent down and started scratching Mince's ruff, sinking her fingers into the fur just under his brown studded leather collar. "Nice little doggie, aren't you, just like my Barker…"

Surprised because Mince hardly ever let anyone pet him without at least a little growling, Alistair followed her features with his eyes almost not noticing the pretty good view he had of her cleavage. She turned her face towards him and said quietly batting her eyelashes, cheeks slightly flushed, "'Yes', Alistair, my answer is 'yes', I think it was always 'yes'… but there is one condition, it's a rather difficult, come visit me this evening and bring the… Adorable little doggie…" she said the last three words much louder so she could be overheard.

"I should go now." She said, "Until later."

"Later." Echoed Alistair, unable to say anything else because his mouth had suddenly gone dry and his heart was doing demented somersaults in his chest. Mince moped at his feet.

When Oswyn came to summon him back in he was sipping water lost in his own thoughts.

Anora turned and her blue eyes sparkling at him when he took the seat next to her again. "Welcome Arl of Denerim." She tilted her head. "You should smile, Alistair, but don't show your teeth and above all, don't wave."

"Thank you." He said curtly.

He sat down with what he hoped was not quite a closed-lipped smirk hovering over his lips.

"Obviously you gave some mind to your maiden speech while you were out there?" Anora asked.

"Maid—"

* * *

Alistair was intrigued to see that the Couslands lived in a house rather than an estate when they were in Denerim, even if it was one of those elegant four storey houses with balconies in an arcaded square he used to admire at a distance whenever he wandered through the city at night. He hadn't noticed the silver laurels that decorated the wide windowed frontage or the fact that the balcony surrounds and window frames were painted in Cousland green before, but now they seemed to stand out with an almost painful obviousness.

"I've come to see the lady of the house," He said to the major-domo who opened the door.

"The Teyrn will see you first, Your Majesty." Sniffed the servant.

"Very well." Said Alistair, what choice did he have? The servant sniffed some more as Mince trotted through the doorway in his wake.

He was ushered through a hall with the Cousland device set in tile in the centre and up a staircase and another. A heavy walnut door was pushed open for him and he entered into a well-lit library that smelt agreeably of recent sunlight, leather and dust.

Fergus stepped forward with an extended hand. "Alistair! How pleasant to see you in proximity rather than at a distance..."

Alistair noted that Fergus had changed his clothes whereas he still wore this morning's charcoal garments. The Teyrn slapped him heartily on the shoulder after pumping his hand.

"Lovely dog too..." Fergus put a hand out and Mince growled. Alistair almost felt proud of him.

"Well now..." Said Fergus. There were a few moments of awkward silence. Alistair would be damned if he thanked Fergus for the events earlier that day and it seemed to him Fergus was reluctant to congratulate him on that utter hash of a maiden speech.

"So you spend a week with my sister away from Denerim and she comes back with her lovely hair in I don't know what barbaric style held in place by a knife..."

Alistair sighed. "Sorry about that..."

Fergus shrugged. "Not your fault." Then he added, "I hear you were somewhat more inspired when speaking to the troops prior to entering Denerim than this morning..."

"I don't like surprises and anyway that was fighting, not... politics." Said Alistair.

"I am not going to apologise." Said Fergus.

"I came to see your sister..." Said Alistair turning towards the door and about to walk through it.

"Tell me... Speaking of fighting." Said Fergus. There was a quaver in his voice. Alistair turned back towards him, embarrassed by his own abruptness.

Fergus had crossed his arms over his chest and his head was bowed. "Who actually killed Howe?"

"Neriya." Said Alistair, "We'd developed a basic strategy by that point... I would target the mages, Neriya the warriors. Howe had two mages, they were powerful, it took me some time to deal with them."

Fergus took a deep breath, still not looking up. "Were there any last words?"

"Yes." Alistair paused, "I should add he died on the floor of his own dungeon amid convulsions as his blood congealed slowly in his veins as a result of Neriya's spell saying he deserved better..."

"He deserved better?"

"Yes. His precise words were 'I deserved better.'" Said Alistair softly.

"Thank you... Thank you... Alistair. We owe you so much..."

"You owe Neriya, if you owe anyone... Although it was a joint effort. Howe was... filth he deserved what he got." Alistair paused. "He is not worth troubling your thoughts over. Not yours, nor Rous's."

Apparently still overwrought, Fergus stumbled to a nearby chair and sat down heavily he was clasping his stomach as if in pain. "Has Rous..."

"No she never asked me."

"That's good." Said Fergus.

"Shall I ask one of the servants to bring you something to drink? It might help" Suggested Alistair.

"Ask for some wine, Alistair. Red."

"I'll do that."

Alistair took a seat in his turn whilst they waited for the servant. After a few minutes he said, "I read your essay... I liked it a good deal, Teyrn."

"Thank you." Said Fergus.

"I mean it." Said Alistair, "You went through quite a lot..."

Fergus grinned humourlessly.

"Tell me..." Said Alistair leaning towards him. There was a discreet knock on the door and Alistair hastened to open it taking the wine and the cups from the servant without allowing him to enter the room.

He set them on a small mahogany circular table pulled out the cork and poured a generous measure for each of them. Once Fergus had drank a first draught Alistair continued. "Were there many former Templars out there in the wilds?"

Fergus tossed down the first cup of wine and then let his eyes run over contents of the bookcase. "There were a great many Fereldan males there who appeared to have a considerable amount of training in fighting... But I didn't ask where they came from and they certainly weren't telling... I assume the answer to your question is therefore 'yes'... why do you ask?"

"As a former Templar... Just curious really..."

"I see." Fergus replied but he didn't sound convinced.

"And the Chasind woman who nursed you back to health automatically assumed that you would wish to marry her daughter."

"That's correct, yes. It was quite funny really, I suppose. A few weeks after coming back to my senses, I found myself attempting to explain to her that I already had a wife who I was quiet happy with, and no, I didn't want or need another... Eventually they brought in a Fereldan clan member who acted as interpreter..."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"This Godfrey..."

"So she told you. She must trust you. Don't worry about him, Alistair, or his deputy or any of those involved..." Fergus waved a hand in the air and smiled showing his teeth. Through those gestures Alistair caught a glimpse of something else residing under Fergus's usual urbane aristocratic exterior. "I'm not entirely ineffective—"

"I never..."

"Ignore me..." Said Fergus, "Rous doesn't know. Best that way."

"I see."

"I shouldn't keep you much longer, Alistair; she'll doubtless tell me off if I do."

Alistair hesitated. "She can be a bit scary when she gets angry, can't she?"

Suddenly Fergus's face lit up, "So you know already?"

"Oh yes..."

Fergus quaffed another cup of wine. "Just one thing more..."

Alistair paused with his hand on the door handle.

"Treat her well."

* * *

"There's beef pie," Said Rous, "or some cold cuts..." They were in the kitchen on the ground floor and she'd seated him at a wooden table that was probably used by the servants when there were enough of them around. The table was next to a huge cast metal cooking range, still radiating heat.

"How—"

"I thought you would come straight here..."

"Pie please."

She bought out the remains of what had been a handsome beef pie with a rich thick pastry crust and a metal fork from what was obviously the larder at the other side of the room. She also filled a tankard with some ale and set that in front of him. He was reminded of Bregeth by the casualness she seemed to have taken to feeding him.

"And..." Rous bent down and scratched the mabari's head.

"Mince," said Alistair, pausing just before putting a forkful of pie in his mouth. He had just remembered that he really was hungry. Rous flinched at the name.

"Really? That's..."

"Appalling, I know. I was going through a bad time when I got them... " He said chewing looking down speculatively at the tightly muscled hound who had just started whining seeing his master begin to eat.

"Them?"

"Meat died... Well he was killed, actually."

"Like Barker..." Rous paused, "But _my_ excuse is I named him when I was just sixteen. I'll get 'Mince' some chicken."

"Thanks." And then, "Did you make this?"

Rous shook her head. "No embroidery is about as domesticated as I get…"

"Embroidery…" He looked at her speculatively, "So that was no lie…"

"No lie." She said, "but I'm not great at it either… It's… Calming, sometimes."

"Well, it's nice pie anyway…"

"We have a good cook… An old guy."

"A guy… Huh. So…"

"Finish eating, Alistair, then we'll talk." She said pointing to the remains of the pie on his plate. He obeyed. In the meantime, she pulled herself half a tankard and began to sip it sitting opposite of him for a moment the only noise in the kitchen was Mince slurping and growling as he consumed the cold cuts.

Eventually Alistair polished off all the food on his plate and a second helping, just to show willing and raised his hazel eyes to her.

"The condition is this." Said Rous, looking at the coarse grain wood of the table. "That you do what you can to find your other child—"

"—"

"No." She said, "Let me finish. The important thing is that you should _make the effort._ Once found, if you do find it, deal with the consequences accordingly… If it is a monster or a danger… I don't think any of us who survived the Blight can afford to be idealists, Alistair… But I think either way, whatever the result, you need to search for it, even if you never find it, even if it is dead; at least you will be able to say that you tried your best and look Niamh in the eyes when she is older… Because if you don't Alistair, and if you don't start now, I guarantee that the time will come soon enough when you will not be able to live with yourself, nor anyone else with you..."


	62. Chapter 62

**Chapter 62**

Dragon 9:35 Eluviesta/Cloudreach Denerim [Present]

He looked just like a man, she thought, readying himself for love. He was dressed quite soberly as usual, black or perhaps navy blue, no insignias on the surcoat this time. No need to show off. Not in _that way_ anyway, but his surcoat was undone and his shirt slightly looser around the neck than usual. She could see that damned amulet glimmering below his throat amidst the light golden fluff of chest hair. She felt like reaching over, grasping the amulet, pulling him towards her and riffling the hair with the tips of her fingers… _There'll be time enough for that later,_ she told herself.

The meal was excellent, roast pheasant with roast potatoes and sweet juicy peas but she found herself putting the food in her mouth and not really tasting it. Their conversation also seemed to languish, although every now and then she caught him glancing at her and looking away quickly when she had spotted him.

Half way through, Rous said, "Are you not just _a little_ nervous, Alistair?"

Alistair, who appeared to be tucking into his food, glanced at her again, "I would dearly like to say I was _not_."

"We should really have done it… spontaneously;" she said, "then we wouldn't find it so nerve wracking."

Alistair's eyes went somewhat vacant for a few moments as if he were seeing something that wasn't there, and then he put his pheasant leg down. "There is one thing…" He said.

"What?" Asked Rous.

"Well…" He said. He pressed his lips together a little tightly and wiped his fingers on his napkin, "I _could_ offer, to do anything and everything you told me to… Then you would be completely in control…"

Rous looked at him askew, "You would?"

Alistair steepled his hands. "I've done it before, with women I've trusted…"

Rous snorted.

"Sometimes you learn an awful lot like that, you know," He added, "Letting the lady have the upper hand…"

Rous tossed a pheasant wing at him, he didn't quite manage to duck it in time and it hit the tips of his hair before falling to the floor. "Really? What would be the point? This _lady_ might as well have stayed at home and amused herself…"

Alistair used the napkin to wipe the ends of his previously neatly arranged hair and then retrieved the pheasant leg from the floor carefully setting it aside. "You haven't taken to the idea then, I gather…"

"Alistair, sometimes I wonder… Do you take anything seriously?"

"It _was_ a serious offer, Rous."

"Making love is a joint venture… I want you to enjoy yourself as well and do what _you_ find pleasurable…"

"Fair enough."

For dessert, there was gingerbread, custard, and roasted apples in toffee sauce. Despite looking busy, she had noticed that Alistair was not eating much more than her. She felt sorry for the cook.

She started pushing the stuff she couldn't swallow around on her plate.

"Finished?" He asked.

"I think so." She replied.

He got up and came around the table Rous stood expecting him to pull back the chair for her. However, suddenly in what seemed to be a single swift fluid motion, he pulled her up into his arms.

"Alistair…" She said.

"Just relax," he whispered in her ear, "trust me, Rous."

"But whyyy… Why this?" She said wiggling her feet clad in red satin with silver embossments in the air.

"This particular thing, taking you to my bedchamber, this is how I want to do it. This gives me pleasure." He said. "It is what we discussed earlier." He planted a slushy kiss on her cheek.

"Does doing this make you feel big?" She asked as he fumbled for the door handle while he cradled her.

"I do not need anything to make me _feel_ big." he replied firmly, finding the handle and pulling it down.

"Well that's alright then," she said sarcastically.

"Rous," he said, conveying her down the corridor, "You feel so tense, just relax, will you? You know me, trust me just a little more."

She sighed but then she found a rather delicious tender part of his neck just below his ear and started to kiss and nibble it.

"Better." He remarked, he seemed to be enjoying this new attention, she noticed his neck was coming out in goose bumps.

"You are not going to throw me onto the bed and then jump on top of me are you?" She said after a little while. He showed no sign of flagging or tiredness.

"That was _not_ my plan… Unless you tell me that, you want me to… Then, well, I'll consider it."

"I don't want you to. Not today, anyway…" She said still sulky.

"Good, because I wasn't intending to." They rounded a corner, "Look, there's Lawler…"

"Oh Maker!" Exclaimed Rous and buried her face in his neck and clung to his shirt collar.

Embarrassed by her embarrassment Alistair shrugged as best he could at Lawler and then added. "He knows what to do, that should make you feel safe, Rous."

"But he _knows_!" She mumbled.

Lawler opened the bedroom door for them "And so does Fergus…" Alistair objected, "And… Look, we need someone to keep us safe so someone else doesn't walk in on us. That person is Lawler, the one keeping us safe, I mean, so he has to know…" and they walked through. He paused, Lawler pulled the door closed behind them, Rous was still hiding her face against his neck. "Well, I guess you may have a point… Welcome to my not-so-private private life…"

Alistair set Rous gently down on her feet on the flag-stoned floor.

"And welcome to my bedroom…"

* * *

Rous gasped, of course, she had been in his bedroom before but now there were dozens of candles scattered throughout it given it a beautifully calming atmosphere full of random splashes of light and shadow.

She looked at Alistair; he was smiling at her delight. "Alistair… Thank you, this is beautiful…"

"Am I forgiven for daring to pick you up now?" He asked.

"Of course you are…" She spun on her heels like a child looking around the room. There candles _everywhere_. Then she noticed that the bed had been neatly made with a corner of the sheet turned down… and scattered with rose and Andraste's grace petals. "This is so thoughtful… I…"

Rous took a step towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss they shared was gentle but intense and they were both flushed and slightly out of breath following it.

"Let me…" She said at tugged at his surcoat. He relinquished it gracefully with a laugh and she draped it over one of the chairs in front of the fire.

"Now," Rous said, and methodically loosened the laces of his shirt and then laid her cheek against his chest listening to the slow thud-thud of his heart. Then she helped him lift it over his head and placed it with the surcoat.

She was quite familiar with this part of his body but she nevertheless took the opportunity to study it in detail at her ease. His torso was criss-crossed with small scores, he even had, a very long a scar running from his right armpit to below his waist but they were not as bad as her own were, they had healed much better. It didn't matter, rather she spent some time admiring Alistair's perfectly muscled arms, his broad chest with a light sprinkling of golden hair, a very flat stomach, a tight navel and a beguiling trail of the same fine hair leading down from it…

Rous did what she had wanted to do earlier that evening and skimmed her hand just above the surface of his chest riffling his diaphanous hair. Following that, she traced the trail of the scar from his armpit with her index finger to the waist of his breeches as if following a path on a map. He stood very still and very straight as she did this, watching her through his long lashes, allowing her to indulge herself.

Then standing directly in front of him she pursed her lips and placed them around one nipple and then the other, noting that they were at exactly the same height as her mouth. This elicited more of a reaction from him and he bent over her resting his head lightly on top of hers, his arms enfolding her against him, breathing deeply as Rous kissed and touched him until they resembled two tight little pips.

After a time Alistair nuzzled her, "Lovely one," He rasped, "You are doing terrible things to me…" and then he let her go and walked over to his bed very jerkily. Once he got there, he sat on the edge of it and began pulling at his boots.

She followed him and got on the bed behind him, draped herself over his broad smooth back and kissed his neck. She felt the muscles there contract as Alistair beamed. Having got off one boot and sock, he began tugging at the other. Once he had done this, she made sure she was standing in front of him, he made a move to begin to loosen the ties of his breeches, but Rous intervened saying "Allow me."

* * *

Rous seemed to have recovered from her nerves and her grumpiness and had gotten into the swing of things; she was now kneeling fumbling eagerly with the laces at the front of his breeches.

Just the sight of her doing that in green satin dress with the low cut bodice was really exciting him and now when he dared to opened his eyes he was catching alternate glimpses of her elegant white hands busy at his tight groin and the sweet warm valley between the peaks of her breasts.

She looked up, "Got you…" A cheeky smile lit her whole face touching her eyes, which sparkled. She made a move to tug his breeches open but he stopped her stood up and lowered them himself.

"Now," he said, helping her to her feet, he noticed her eyes were still fixed at the area below his midriff, "it is hardly fair, is it? That I should be like this…" He said chucking her under the chin to tear her gaze away from his tautened smallclothes, "whereas you are still in that admittedly, very fetching, dress."

"As you say, Alistair." She replied and twirled so he found himself looking at the bare nape of her neck and the intricate lacing, which sheathed the robe to her so tightly.

"Ah-ha," He said, attempting not to sound intimidated. There appeared to be several sets of ties, some overlapping. "How…"

"Richelle helped me get into it…"

"And I am expected to get you out of it by myself? I see…"

She giggled, "I know you like a challenge…"

He pulled her right up to him and whispered in her ear, "Suppose I fetch some scissors?"

"No, Alistair, no. Absolutely not, those ribbons are pure silk…"

He took a pace back and set to it cursing occasionally but getting more and more aroused as he went on his fingers slackening and then unthreading the tiny tightened knots. Each one he managed to unravel, a small triumph.

Finally, he had them all, he pulled the fabric apart and exactly as if it were designed to do so the satin dress fell with a brief sigh of resignation pooling around Rous's feet. She stepped gracefully out of it as if she were stepping out of a shallow puddle.

She was now only wearing stays, smallclothes and translucent stockings all in black silk and her dainty scarlet pumps.

His breath caught in his throat. She was more attractive than most of the desire demons he had seen. Rous had lowered her face and her hands were in a clinch over her stomach. A few loose strands of coppery red hair framed her features and flickering candlelight drenched her pale skin in shifting golden hues. Even the scars he could pick out added to the overall effect, they made her human and fragile, something to be cherished and handled with great care.

Before he had a chance to give some voice to his admiration she had slipped by him and arching her foot on the bed, her slipper on the floor had set about undoing a garter. "No," Alistair said quickly removing her fingers from the binding. "Those you should leave on. Definitely on."

"Alistair…" She said, "If I leave them on they will tear…"

"Rous, Rous, Rous, Rous, Rous…" he took her hands to his mouth and started covering them with kisses. "I will buy you ten pairs of stockings, a thousand and ten of them if you wish but tonight leave those on…"

"Very well," she said, "Since you are asking so nicely, she batted her eyelids.

He led her to the bed, "Come here" he said laying down first and pointing to the space next to him.

* * *

She did and they both lay down. Alistair pulled her face to his, his hands on her cheeks. Rous put her arms around him. His lips were slightly rough and his soul patch tickled her chin but his tongue was smooth and eager and, as before, he moved it enticingly exploring her mouth with ease engaging teasingly with her own, their still partly clad bodies rubbing up against each other and both of them smouldering in the candlelight.

He wrenched his face away. "Maker, I enjoy this so much…," he said quietly. Under long blond lashes, Alistair's eyes were suffused with yearning. Rous could only nod mutely in agreement.

They kissed again and it was as if they were alone in the world as if they lay on the bottom of a deep placid sea, the waves moving unhurriedly above them. One hand moved from her face to her hips stroking languidly the smooth skin between her stockings and her smallclothes.

And then he reached behind her for her stays, she wondered for a moment whether he could continue to kiss and release them at the same time… The answer was yes; unlike the dress, they were not laced but hooked… Then one of his hands hesitantly cupped her left breast fondling its roundness his fingers teasing her nipple until it was quite taut. Shortly after Alistair's other hand moved to the other breast, she stilled as he fingered the rough scar over its mound.

Rous jerked her face away from his. "You…" she said. His hand was still in place.

"What?" he asked softly, his lips were wet and slightly inflamed from their kissing, his hair tousled. "I like and desire every last bit of you, Rous."

She shut her eyes and submitted to his caresses.

After a little while, he stopped stroking her. She opened her eyes slowly only to find that he was on his knees facing her, "Pull them down will you?" He said gesturing towards his smallclothes.

She kneeled in her turn, grinned up at him, nicked his chin with the edges of her teeth as she slid her hands into the sides of his smallclothes, and slowly eased them over his hips.

His erection sprung free. He was well endowed and his cock curved slightly upwards in an elegant bow both solid and hefty, a single bead of moisture already shining at its pinnacle. Alistair's pubic area was covered with a light fleece of tight golden curls, a shade darker and a little coarser than the hair on the rest of his body. Once he had wiggled out of the smallclothes, he remained on his knees in front of her as if begging for her attention.

Rous toyed awhile with the taut little curls awhile and then reached down and took hold of his balls lightly squeezing them. Alistair gasped.

She bent down further and tugging gently at the delicate ridged skin of his scrotum, feeling his gaze burning into the back of her head, put out her tongue and with the very tip of it, touched the shy slit at the apex of his cock and lingered there detaching the pearl. She sensed Alistair's stomach muscles tighten as he inhaled. He clenched his hands but kept them at his side. Then, unable to help herself, Rous caught the entire bud of his sex in her mouth and swirled her tongue around it. It was firm but velvety smooth, Alistair tasted slightly salty with a fresh after-tang, a hint of spring blossom.

She let him go, knelt upright again, and looked at him smacking her lips. "You are so bad," He said in a low voice playing sensually on the syllables, "so, so bad…" and suddenly Alistair pulled her face to his again. He clasped his hands either side of her jaw licking eagerly first around her mouth, then her lips, then his tongue against hers, then almost to her throat. She placed her hands fingers slightly curled against his chest and yielded to him.

Once he broke the kiss Rous put his hands on the delicate silk sheath around her loins and said, "Now you."

Alistair smiled and tugged… "Oh, Andraste… Ahhhh, you're red there, red and pink…"

"Well what did you think I would be?" Rous said putting her hands on her hips in mock annoyance.

"I don't know…" He said shaking his head feeling genuinely baffled, "I imagined… It, YOU, look beautiful there, so beautiful, I never… I _can_ touch, right?"

"Of course you can…" and she thrust her hips forward exposing more of her moist softness to his greedy gaze.

"Bad girl." He said looking down at her and grinning.

Alistair gently moved his finger through her dewy red curls up the length of her parting delicately the tender portals of her flesh there. Rous closed her eyes leaning her forehead on his shoulder and moaned very quietly. He touched her some more looking for that special place and one of her hands grasped his wrist, not trying to stop him but urging him on. He could listen to the little sounds she made while he caressed her like this for aeons.

Eventually Rous lifted her head from his shoulder and said in a husky voice, "I want to feel you inside me"

She lay back.

* * *

He leaned over her and gazed at her below him, taking in her face, her dark lashes and green eyes, her breasts, her shapely legs in the black stockings and lastly the flash of red and pink between her thighs.

"But…" He said hesitantly, "I am rather… It's been a long time for you and… Look, I don't want to hurt you."

Rous laughed. "Do you worry about that with all your lovers?" She asked,

Naked and erect as he was, Alistair felt himself flush a little, he always knew when he was with an intelligent woman. They had the unnerving habit of asking rather good questions at moments like this. "Sometimes." He mumbled.

Rous sat up. "Oh Alistair… Really… You are so… Impossible." She put her arms round his neck and started showering his face with kisses.

He sighed.

She lay back down again. "I am sure I will be fine… Please."

"Alright. As you wish" Alistair said. He held the base of his cock and put against her sex staying quite still for a moment, taking a breath, and then angling his pelvis, he thrust forward. Rous gave a muffled cry as he entered her and he felt her digging her fingers into the muscles of his shoulder.

His head was suddenly swimming, she felt warm and smooth around him. Overcome by gratitude he stopped to kiss her, Rous's eyes were closed and her breathing was agitated. He felt one of her hands ruffle his hair as he pulled his head back up and then, unable to help himself, he circled his hips again and with another push followed by another he buried himself as deeply in her as was possible.

This time the pleasure was so intense; he groaned and felt his fingers clawing on the sheets.

* * *

Rous felt his balls tight against her entrance. Catching their breath, they both locked eyes.

"Good… right?" Said Alistair. His face was quite flushed and his eyes a little unfocused, there were beads of perspiration on his brow. His hair stuck up in several different directions. She knew she must look pretty much the same.

"Yes," Rous replied breathlessly. "Yes. Yes, very good."

She could not recall the last time she had been so full, there was some discomfort there but also a very satisfied, intimate warm feeling that seemed to throb right in the core of her body, slowly seeping through all her limbs.

Rous drew her knees up towards her waist but feeling that was too passive, instead, extended her legs dug her heels in against the mattress and flexed her pelvis, with a small cry, urging herself towards him, giving herself to him, attempting to impale herself even more deeply on his hardness.

"I…" Alistair said and then he put his mouth against hers once again and she attempted to wrap her legs around his middle but found that he was too broad so she had to content herself with resting them trembling on his thighs. For a while, they were lost in each other, their bodies joined at the mouth and at the hip as if they were one.

Eventually Alistair was compelled to tear his lips away from hers it seemed his urge to thrust had become unbearable. He found a rhythm, took all of his weight on his arms and they simply shared their pleasure amid quiet moans and murmurings.

Lying under his body looking up at his wide chest and feeling him move in her core, Rous felt overwhelmed and yet sheltered, safer and more protected than she had in years. She realised that she had needed this intimate physical contact desperately but had hardly dared to hope that she would ever experience it again, after life had thrown so many things at her.

She closed her eyes allowing herself to drift away on a current of pure sensation.

* * *

Soon Alistair felt her spasm around him, "Maker…" she said and then a little later, "Maker!" again, and then Rous opened her eyes and looked at his face and said, "Alistair!" in a rich strange voice full of desire that sent shivers down his spine, through his balls and to the tip of his cock.

Finally she almost screamed "Maker!" and for a brief moment her hands clenched her body contracted and went utterly rigid and Alistair could feel her fists pounding on his back and hear his own groans in response as her sex pulsated urgently around his hardness, then she sank back limp, pliant and at ease, eyelids fluttering.

A little later, still moving, he opened his eyes briefly and saw tears staining her cheeks. He paused to gently lick them. He did not know whether it was that sight, the slight saltiness, or both things that pushed him over the edge, but he began to shudder and convulse in turn feeling an almost unbearable heat coalescing in his groin until his passion too crested and Alistair released himself into her with a loud cry of fulfilment.

* * *

Sometime afterwards, when they were lying together side-by-side recovering their breaths holding hands, Alistair asked, "If I told you I loved you, would you mind?"

"I love you, Alistair," Rous said quickly before he had properly beaten her to it.

"Bugger." He said gravely, "I wanted to say it first."


	63. Chapter 63

**Chapter 63**

Dragon 9:35 Eluviesta/Cloudreach Denerim [Present]

"Oswyn," said Alistair, looking out of the window onto a fine spring day "thank you so much for your help last week at the Landsmeet."

Oswyn was looking well, Alistair had thought, his blond hair had grown somewhat since Orzammar and he'd kept the beard, which was very trim. He looked older, without looking old. Alistair wondered for a moment whether he should go for a full beard himself… He guessed he'd have to ask Rous now. Anyway, he had more important things to think about than personal grooming at the moment.

In response, Oswyn riffled nervously through the goodly pile of papers in front of him on the large table and then replied. "My father was very happy. He actually told me afterwards it was a dream come true. He said that when he returned home with me following my captivity by Howe, he had feared I would never the same again. Either physically or mentally. He was so proud that I could carry out those duties in front of my peers including those who had heard I had been… broken… I was... It meant a lot to him… Come to think of it, it means a lot to me as well." He almost added as an afterthought.

Alistair glanced briefly at him. "That's good… when we met about a year ago, I'm… Well, I can't claim to be a great judge of character." He tugged at the left cuff of his shirt, "But I saw you had it in you, you were making an effort… I admired that. I admit I also thought to myself, 'I can use this.' Though that Landsmeet was tricky at times."

"But Landsmeets, you know Alistair, never go to plan. There is always something."

"Indeed." Said Alistair, "and this last something was called Fergus Cousland."

"Oh well, yes." Agreed Oswyn, "but I think that is a matter we need to talk about."

"What is there to say?" Asked Alistair.

Oswyn sighed, "Quite a lot, really." Alistair's eyebrows went up at that and he glanced at his friend questioningly. Their meeting was to discuss the lyrium but Oswyn had planned to bring the subject of Teyrn Cousland up at some point. Since they were now discussing him, they might as well continue, "to start with, publicly at least, Fergus is the next in line to the throne after you and Anora… So in my view, whether you like it or not, you are going to have include him in some of your long-term plans."

It was clear from Alistair's expression that this suggestion did not meet entirely with his approval. Nevertheless, Oswyn persisted, "That was somewhat blunt but, as you know, I have taken the opportunity to get in myself with him, he is not at all ill-disposed toward you, quite the contrary, in fact."

It was Alistair's turn to sigh.

"By the way," Oswyn said, "I saw Rous here this morning… are you and she—"

"Yes." Said Alistair still looking out of the window.

"Well, that should make things easier, surely?"

Alistair pursed his lips and shook his head.

"Well, perhaps not, then." Said Oswyn. "Believe me I am very sorry to have to draw your attention to something you might not find entirely agreeable. However, I think it's my duty to do so, and if I didn't, I would be negligent."

"You sound like one of those arbiters, Oswyn…" said Alistair, "Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike the Teyrn, in fact I know him to be a thoroughly decent man. But… we do seem to be coming at things from different directions."

"But surely, then, as long as you are both heading for the same destination, you can find some common ground?"

"Do you know," Said Alistair, "that the other day when I went to collect Rous to, well…? Bring her here… I took him a gift and he accused me of attempting to exchange a case of wine for his sister?"

"He did?"

"He did. Then, in front of me, he opened the case I'd brought him and began examining the different bottles I had selected, reviewing each of them one by one and eventually he said: 'At least it's a superior case. Eclectic. Very versatile.'"

Oswyn laughed, Alistair scowled somewhat at his own reflection in the window.

"It's his way, Alistair. That was probably backhanded praise. He has a very dry sense of humour and is extraordinarily protective of his sister… which is hardly surprising…" As he said this, Oswyn realised he was speaking to someone who had grown up with no immediate family. No parents, no sisters, hardly a brother. Little wonder he was finding these new interactions confusing. "What did Rous have to say about it?" He asked.

"She said Fergus was just joking… Fergus is always just joking… I wish he would be serious sometime, or make clear that he is in jest…" Alistair sounded peevish, put out.

"Alistair…" Oswyn folded his hands in front of him.

"Yes?"

"You never really had a family, did you?"

"And what— No."

"Sometimes this is how family act, they have their foibles, their little ways, their mannerisms… That thing at the Landsmeet, when Fergus said he was trying to make you join our ranks… Yes, he said it humorously, but I think he was serious at heart, Alistair. He wants you to be one of us, not a bastard not an outsider… That is good, especially since you and Rous… You should try to look at things differently; he could be a most valuable ally."

Alistair did not respond. Oswyn continued, "You need to think, as well as of the politics, of the position this may put Rous in… I imagine you've told Rous you have a daughter?" He expected no less of Alistair, a born truth-teller he thought.

"Of course. Yes."

"But she is not only your child, obviously. She is also, like it or not, an heir presumptive …"

Alistair shook his head very adamantly, Oswyn, insisted, "Fergus doesn't know this and he is potentially next in line… but Rous does… That might put her in an extremely awkward position in future."

"But Niamh—"

"Do you honestly think Fergus could be a danger to her?"

"I… No. He doesn't _seem_ personally ambitious. Anymore than I myself am, he is _not_ like Anora… And what happened to _his_ child…"

"I agree entirely with that assessment." Oswyn cut in. "The Couslands are the Couslands… That is what they take most pride in being. They plough their own furrow, that's how my father likes to describe them." Oswyn paused, "Ultimately it may have been that independent streak that cost Bryce, Eleanor, Oriana and little Oren their lives…"

"I shall think on it. Consider it… Now we were going to discuss this lyrium…"

"I was coming to that; I think the issues are related…" Said Oswyn tapping the papers in front of him.

"How?"

"Highever is a port…"

There was a pause, "I thought we spoke of Jader…" Said Alistair.

"We did, but Jader is Orleisian… We are seeking to undercut the Chantry here. I've had a re-think. I believe using Jader may make it too risky, though of course it is nearer to Orzammar. But to a certain extent it is in the wrong direction if we want to get the lyrium to the Free Marches and Antiva and so…"

Alistair was silent for a while. "What of West Hill?"

_Clack-clack_, Oswyn could almost hear it in the room with them the satisfying thwacking sound of two stout staves coming into contact. Yesterday he'd been at the Chantry. No, not attending a session of the chant; he doubted he'd do that willingly ever again. The dwarves had the right of it, he thought. Taking on some of the novices, brothers and sisters in an informal staff fighting competition. He hadn't won, but he'd come a close second to the brother nicknamed 'Brother Bear' because of his size. Brother Bear was so large he had almost split the plank on which some of the face offs had been held.

Oswyn segued back, "What of it? As a port it is too shallow and too sheltered, larger vessels will have difficulty with it."

"I see…"

"Alistair…"

"Yes?"

"When we were at Orzammar… Do you recollect telling me about a certain Isabela?"

Alistair blinked rapidly a few times, "No… I don't…"

"You _were_ pretty drunk…"

Alistair sighed, "What has that got to do…"

"She was a captain? Of a ship named 'The Siren's Call', you were laughing about that, 'Well it certainly called to me…' you said."

"Ah."

"And have you heard of something called _'La felic__í__sima armada'_?

"The _what_?"

"It means 'the happy fleet' or 'the merry crew' or something of that ilk in Antivan, or is it Nevarran? Insofar as I can work out they're a bunch of Rivaini 'privateers', whatever that means, 'pirates' probably… who have made informal arrangements to act in concert or at least not undercut each other when dealing with the Qunari at sea. The agreement concerned is called the 'Llomerynn Accords'… "

Alistair sat down in the sturdy chair opposite him stretching out his legs and crossing them, eyeing him with something like anticipation. "Do go on Oswyn, this is all fascinating stuff…"

"Obviously the 'Llomerynn Accords' may now be applied, sometimes, to other activities… They're more like guidelines, apparently. Amazing what you find out hanging around Denerim port at night in the guise of an inexperienced land lubber with itchy feet looking to join a ship, perhaps... and being a little careless with your change in the taverns…"

"Do be careful such research doesn't get you killed Oswyn… I found Isabela for the second time, like that," Said Alistair, "And in terms of personal risk, it's not to be recommended, Lawler told me off… As for Isabela, I'd met her before and… Well I obviously bored you with all the sordid details in Orzammar…"

"By the way, it's 'Isabella' with two ls now…"

"I shall bear that in mind…"

"She's one of the stars of the armada… They actually call them _'estrellas'_ or 'stars', someone with a certain level of authority. Ultimately undefined, of course…"

"Well, this is quite educational."

"I've really been having fun…" Oswyn grinned and his whole face lit up. "And do you know…"

* * *

"Alistair, are you listening to me? Are you?" Rous asked.

They were on the horses the following day in their favourite place, the beach just outside Denerim. It didn't matter that it was stormy. It was nice to rise early together from the warm, comfy bed, don their riding gear, creep quietly to the stables, prepare Dusk and Hope and be here just the two of them a few hours after dawn.

"Yes, I am yes…" He said smiling at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner he'd realised he'd drifted away for a while. "Just a lot to go over." He said rubbing the back of his head.

He and Oswyn had moved on from discussing the logistics of selling the lyrium to what they hoped to do with the proceeds.

Food first, Alistair had said, then recovering ground lost in the Blight making sure every inch of cultivable land was properly used with the aim of becoming self-supporting like in the old days. Then education. Anora had managed to secure agreement from the Landsmeet to spend some of the state's revenues to found a university. Alistair had backed her in this in return for her support for the setting up of schools in the poorer parts of Denerim. That had caused harrumphs from some of the older, more conservative set in the Landsmeet according to Oswyn and a few grumbles about 'upstart over-educated plebs', but it had passed.

After the meeting with Oswyn, which had lasted two hours longer than anticipated, he'd had a meeting with Crabbe who had been carrying out an inventory of the assets entailed to the Arling of Denerim. Alistair had been pleased to note that there were at least a dozen town houses some of which could be turned into schools, he hoped and another to permanently house Niamh and Bregeth.

All of this had made for a very tiring day and when he'd gotten to bed that evening, inevitably late, he had needed sleep more than anything else. It was beneficial that he had already discovered that falling asleep in Rous's arms was a good deal easier and more restful than alone in an empty bed.

He'd just summarised most of this, as they were riding this morning, for Rous's benefit, he knew it would be a bad idea to have such a conversation at bedtime, and then he'd added, "I need to talk to Fergus…"

"Talk as in… 'TALK'?" Rous asked.

"Exactly."

"Shall I make the arrangements?"

"If you don't mind. I'd like to see him in the palace…"

She was silent for a little while then she asked, "Is he getting on your nerves?"

"Well…" Alistair glanced at the Amaranthine Sea, it seemed restless today, or was that him? Black flecked with white, the hard cold sheen of flint "But that's not…"

"He gets on everyone's nerves sometimes you know, even mine. But… It's what makes Fergus, Fergus and I still love him." She concluded defensively.

"I know that, of course I know that, Rous, he's a good guy. It's just business…" Then he added, "Next week we're meeting the bloody Grand Cleric… better arrange it for after that." Rous nodded tritely. His good girl.

Putting politics aside and coming back to what they were at Rous asked him "You want to do this don't you?"

"Oh yes, yes indeed… and so does he," he said leaning forward and patting Dusk's flank "for weeks now, I sense he's been dying for it" as if to confirm his words, Dusk capered eagerly beneath him.

"Well repeat—"

"I start at a trot and then move on to a brisk, constant canter. Then I take my weight off the saddle, support myself on my knees and the stirrups, lean forward a little and loosen the reins because Dusk will need to extend his neck but making sure I keep a good grip on them. I coax him with my knees on his flank to accelerate. When I want to stop I steady his pace with the reins and sit back down."

"And?"

"And, he'll need plenty of space to slow down so I must ensure I give it to him."

"And?"

He thought he'd covered everything so he shrugged, "I dunno…"

"Most important of all: Don't break your bloody neck, Alistair, because I'll miss you and blame myself."

He grinned very widely as he circled Dusk on the strand. In the poor morning light, it looked almost the same hue as the stallion. "Here goes then, wish me luck."

Rous kissed her fingers and put them briefly against his cheek as he trotted by her.

Their trotting soon became a canter, Dusk seemed as fidgety this morning as he was, or was he as fidgety as Dusk? A good sign he guessed, they were both in tune. He kept the canter up for at least five minutes then he raised himself somewhat from the seat, adjusted the reins. Under him, Dusk seemed to quiver and then shudder and then became perfectly calm… And then…

He flew; there was no other word for it, although sudden the movement was so fluent so simple… Alistair at first found himself struggling a little from sheer surprise but then remembering his lesson he relaxed into the new stance, coursing through the spray, feeling the adverse wind whip his face and hair and his blood pounding in his ears. Without being able to help himself he began to shout and whoop as he hadn't done since he was a child, a very young child, a child who as of yet knew nothing about unhappiness…

* * *

Following at a lively trot in Alistair's wake Rous heard something that at first she thought may have been a scream and for a moment she panicked, but that was followed by another sound, something a bit like: "WOOOOOO WHOOOOOOOOO!" She smiled to herself. The boy was having fun, she thought.


	64. Chapter 64

**Chapter 64**

Dragon 9:35 Molioris/Bloomingtide Denerim [Present]

"She is late." Complained Alistair, not attempting to conceal his annoyance.

"The Grand Cleric is always late," replied Anora, "it is one of those traits that she uses to put us in our place. Do not show that it is bothers you, because I warn you she _will_ take full advantage of that."

"I _like_ her already," replied Alistair.

Anora clapped her hands, "you know, Cailan was exactly the same, he used to make it evident that she got up his nose something awful, and she always took advantage of it."

"Cailan and was not wrong then. How often did you and he meet her?"

"Oh, some five or six times."

After about a further half an hour the door open, a figure supported on the arm of a young female novice entered the room. Elemena wore a fine brown felt cape with a hood over her robe. Whereas the robes of Chantry mothers was mostly orange with some detailing in red, that of the Grand Cleric was mostly red with some detailing in orange. The novice helped her up the dais and assisted her to take her seat on the high-backed chair. The Grand Cleric, who clutched a sturdy ebony walking stick in her left hand, smiled at her gratefully, which she apparently took as a sign of dismissal leaving discreetly closing the door behind her. Elemena lowered her hood.

Grand Cleric Elemena extended one bony hand with sinews like cables and with slightly long finger nails that resembled a bird of prey's talons, so that they could kiss the signet ring adorned with a large moonstone engraved with the face of Andraste.

Alistair made way for Anora to kiss it first, and then he did likewise. They then took their seats on the twin chairs in front of the dais.

"Our children, it is good to see you last." Elemena had grey eyes and they seem touched with beneficence as she said this.

Anora smiled briefly, Alistair likewise, though perhaps his smile was slightly more forced.

"Now then…" The Grand Cleric cleared her throat. "I well know you must be very busy. So this old lady will not keep you longer than necessary… The reason…. Oh, please give this aged mind of mine some time… Well, then, let us start with where we are…" Elemena placed her stick so it lent on the arm of her seat, "you are the sovereigns of this beautiful land of Ferelden, and I, for my many sins, am the highest representative of the Chantry here. It is my fervent belief that regular contact is needed between us in order that this country of ours be directed in the most enlightened and morally responsible way possible. I appreciate that both of you, my children, have been most occupied of late. So much so, in fact, that you may have overlooked the importance of a harmonious and constant relationship between us. Consider me your benevolent aunt, as it were…" Having arrived at this point, Elemena smiled. "Now please, do tell me what is you have both been up to."

Alistair glanced at Anora who said, lowering her eyes, "Your Grace, we have prepared a summary of the most salient activities in which we have been engaged during this past year."

"Aha," said Elemena, "how very kind of you, my daughter," She put out her hand.

Anora rose from her chair and following a small curtsy, handed the Grand Cleric the manuscript in question.

"Thank you, child." Said Elemena. Holding the manuscript close to her face, she scanned it most carefully, her lips moving as she went, shuffling the leaves for a fair few minutes. When she had finished perusing it, she lowered it to her lap and beaming at Anora. "Please, dear child, I would be most grateful if you could summarise this for me."

In a voice as clear as a bell, Anora, enunciating very carefully as if she were, thought Alistair, back at school, set out the summary that they had agreed beforehand. It tallied very carefully with the contents of the manuscript they had just handed to the Grand Cleric.

Elemena listened attentively with her head tilted to one side nodding encouragingly every now and then. When Anora had finished, smiling tightly, she asked one or two basic questions. Once the answer to these had been supplied, she leaned back into her chair.

"I am so grateful, my children. I see you have been commendably busy overseeing the welfare of the citizens of Ferelden. I can find no fault with the contents of the actions you have just disclosed to me."

Like an idiot, Alistair grinned. The Grand Cleric raised her eyebrows, "however, there are certain matters that I would like to address with you individually. Anora, my sweet, may I start with you?"

Anora bowed her head reverently, "it would be an honour, Your Grace."

"Well then," said Elemena, "If Alistair would please excuse us."

Alistair got up, bowing stiffly and with a quick "Your Grace." left the room.

* * *

Some twenty minutes later, Anora exited the audience room to find Alistair pacing nervously in the corridor outside.

"How did it go?" He asked her in a low voice.

Anora shrugged, "I really don't know why she bothered, it was very superficial, if a bit strained. She wishes to see you now, Alistair."

His stomach in knots due to his vestigial fear of revered mothers in positions of authority, Alistair knocked politely on the door of the audience room.

"Your Grace, I understand you wish to speak with me."

"Come in, my child, sit yourself down."

Alistair did as she bade. "My boy, it seems like yesterday when we first met at Ostagar, and you were running errands for me."

If there was something Alistair had learned from his harsh upbringing in the Chantry, it was not to open your mouth unless you were asked a direct question. Making gratuitous statements could box you into all sorts of awkward corners and cost you dearly.

In the ensuing silence, Grand Cleric Elemena ran her eyes over him very slowly, taking him in. Alistair attempted to suppress his urge to squirm.

"That senior of yours… In the Wardens, what was his name?" She asked eventually.

"Duncan, Your Grace."

"Yes, that was it, Duncan of Highever, a very pragmatic man. I was sorry for what happened to him, I pray for him still… And your half brother, of course." She added, it seemed almost an afterthought. "How old are you now, Alistair?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Ah, you are but a child still and how old is Anora, do remind me?"

"Thirty-five, Your Grace."

Elemena was quiet for a while the only sound in the room that of her finger nails drumming on the wooden arm of her chair. Finally she said, "These games you've been playing, young man, with the lyrium, the mages, the Chief Enchanter, my Templar Commander and such, do you not think that you will eventually tire of them?"

"Your Grace… Lyrium? I am afraid..." Alistair stuttered.

"Do go on." Said the Grand Cleric.

Alistair took a deep breath, "As for the mages and my exchanges with the Chief Enchanter, those are not 'games' but actions taken on the basis of my sincere concerns for the well-being of some of my most vulnerable subjects."

"You mean mages, mages already under the Chantry's merciful and charitable protection." Elemena shook her head censoriously.

Alistair felt himself bristle, an abrupt reply rising to his lips.

"But it is clear to me that such a topic of discussion is going to be unproductive, at least today. Allow me to move on, then. Allow me to advise you as a devout parent would, young Alistair. My advice is this: you should concern yourself more with begetting an heir… A legitimate heir, I mean, one whose heritage is _fully_ human." She paused looking at him attentively as if to let that sink in.

Alistair eyes flashed with momentary defiance. He may have been mistaken but he thought he saw Elemena smile. However, the smile vanished before he could properly say it had ever visited her face.

"As yours is, of course…" she finished primly. "And leave other matters to your elders… You are still too young and inexperienced in matters of state to dabble in such heady things…"

"And yet I slew an Archdemon…" Alistair, reining in his temper, objected mildly.

"Oh, my sweet boy… Indeed, you did, but prowess on the field of battle does not automatically translate as prowess in other fields of endeavour. It will certainly not beget you the child you need and, no doubt, yearn for. Only prowess, or is it potency? I do confuse these things; you know, on the field of feathers, and the Maker's blessing, of course, will get you that."

Alistair was silent. Again, Elemena seemed to expect some sort of comment, but he remained mute.

"Ah, you resent my meddling. But, child, I can help you in ways that no one else can…."

Alistair was tempted: he fell. "In what ways?"

"You want her, do you not? The Cousland girl, I mean." The Grand Cleric leaned forward she had lowered her voice, her tone was cajoling. "She of the red hair and pretty green eyes."

"I…."

"Oh, you colour, it is agreeable to see that if you retain such delicacy of spirit. It cheers my old, cynical heart. She is a good choice, Alistair, mark me: good breeding, healthy, active, _and fertile_ no doubt... Anora is such a sweet, obedient, little thing, but regrettably it seems she cannot give you what you most wish for and her age runs against her."

Alistair cringed inwardly he had been prepared to be mildly disapproving of the Grand Cleric he didn't expect to find her utterly loathsome. He might as well learn what he could, he thought. "If that were the case… What would you propose?"

"Well… Supposing, say, that your current queen were barren, or could be _deemed_ to be barren…" Elemena added carefully, "That might be good grounds, perhaps, on which to request a dissolution of the marital bonds…"

"You mean a divorce?" Said Alistair.

"Yes, in effect, with the Chantry's blessing."

"I see."

"But let us go a little further…" Elemena's grey eyes wandered, "Say, for example, this naturally would be _extremely odd_, that your marriage to Anora had never been consummated…" Alistair tried desperately to suppress a nervous toss of his head, "In that instance, a divorce would not be necessary. Or say, further, that there were _other_ grounds that rendered the marriage invalid…"

"Which—" he pressed.

"Oh, I don't know… The fact that she was previously married to your brother, perhaps…" The Grand Cleric shrugged elegantly.

"My half brother, you mean."

"Fair point, child." Elemena met his eyes briefly and smiled approvingly, he thought. "There are degrees in consanguinity…" She acknowledged, "But so long as some basis in sacred doctrine can be found, together with say, a precedent…"

"What then would be the consequences?" Alistair asked seeking to cut to the chase.

"Why… There would not be a valid marriage in the first place which means the divorce or a dissolution, however you wish to term it, is not necessary…"

"And in that case?"

"In that case, we would just have to present the relevant facts to the Divine in a persuasive manner." The Grand Cleric smoothed her scarlet silk robe over her knees. "If the Divine adjudged them to be sufficiently convincing then she would simply issue a declaration to the effect that your marriage was void. An annulment."

Alistair's mouth, worked somewhat at the last word. "I understand." He said after a pause.

Elemena's coarse hands clasped each other and over her knees, "You see, young man, there are many things I and the Chantry could do for you. With your consent, of course, I could be of great assistance to you, to the young Cousland girl, even to Ferelden. And after so much suffering Ferelden, Andraste's homeland, deserves a chance, a future of certainty, would you not agree? And all to the greater glory of the Maker. "

Alistair gave the briefest possible of nods. He felt sick inside. He tried to ignore that, not let it interfere with his expression, demeanour or voice. "And in exchange, for such generosity, Your Grace, what would you ask?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" His voice sounded hollow to himself.

"Next to nothing," stressed Elemena, "only that you put all your efforts, or most of them, into conceiving that heir, or heirs for all our goods and that once such a child arrives you allow it to be raised by the Chantry so it is not lacking in moral direction and discernment."

The very thought of any child of his, let alone sweet Niamh, enduring the same privations and miseries of his own childhood put Alistair's teeth on edge.

"And what of Anora?" He asked quietly. "What of her?"

"Ah, it is so, so sad… I would offer her sanctuary, an honourable retirement. She has many skills your current queen, who knows? She may welcome the opportunity to set aside all worldly cares and ambitions and use them for the benefit of the Maker and Andraste…"

"And were she not to be so easily persuaded? I need to explore all the angles, you see" Alistair explained.

"In the circumstances it may be unreasonable, irrational almost, to refuse such a generous and graceful offer… If she were to do that…" The Grand Cleric lowered her head and let out what appeared to be a heartfelt sigh. "You would not be the first to whom I had offered to succour in this way." She added.

"Cailan? You mean you made the same offer to Cailan?" He allowed his incredulity to get the best of him.

"There are many troubled souls… But my lips are sealed, even as concerns the affairs of the deceased."

"Suppose…"

Elemena raised her hand, "You are impetuous by nature, this I know. Think well on my words, young Alistair. You have a week in which to decide whether or not to accept this assistance I offer you. Think of what has been said here, and also what has _not_ been said… Should you not agree…" The Grand Cleric let that hang in the air betwixt them for a while, "Then we both must needs abide by the consequences."

Alistair rose from his chair, almost clicking his heels. "It shall be as you say, Your Grace."

"Good. Go then with my blessing, child." Elemena held out her gnarled right hand again, he gathered himself, touched his lips quickly to Andraste's cold, impassive stone face and left the room.

"For now." The Grand Cleric added under her breath once he had closed the door carefully behind him.

* * *

At first Alistair was surprised to find Anora pacing up and down the same corridor in the same way as he had done previously, on reflection, however, it was not so strange after all. He was about to open his mouth to offer her some platitude about the meeting when she grabbed him firmly by the arm and all but pulled him down the passageway. They quickly came to a door on the left, Anora opened it and ushered him inside. It turned out to be little more than a broom cupboard, there were pails and mops, aprons, dusters, mousetraps and, of course, brooms.

"Tell me." Anora said without further ado.

Alistair hesitated, "it was much the same as you said," he replied in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, "there was nothing of any substance, nothing of significance."

Anora was looking grimly at the wall just above his head. "I see," she said, her jaw set, "then there is nothing further to say."

Before Alistair even had the chance to add anything she had opened the door and was making her way down the corridor towards her own quarters.

* * *

That night he retired with a heavy heart to his room. Rous was as enticing as she had ever been but he was just not in the mood. She stroked his hair and face, kissed him, embraced him and eventually helped him undress for bed where she snuggled up against him.

Alistair tossed and turned until well past midnight unable to conjure sleep, going through in his mind the conversation with the Grand Cleric again, and again. The more he went through it, the less he liked it and the more he fretted. Finally, when the fire in the chamber was nothing but ashes in the grate he threw his bedclothes aside and got up.

"Alistair..." Rous mumbled drowsily.

"I'll be back soon, pretty one," he said, "there is just something that I meant to do earlier and it slipped my mind…"

"What…."

"Go back to sleep, Rous." He said firmly. In virtual darkness with only a scintilla of moonlight venturing through the curtains he put his small clothes on, his shirt, linen breeches and finally, pulling on his boots without bothering with socks, picked up his cape and threw it around his shoulders.

Once outside his bedroom and bypassing Lawler's startled expression, with a gruff, "Look after Rous." he made haste to the other side of the floor.

The guards outside Anora's chambers looked surprised, too, as well they might. Ignoring them, he banged his fist on Anora's stout bedroom door. He waited awhile and then banged again.

Finally, his impatience getting the better of him, he said out loud, "Anora, for love of the Maker open up, it's bloody cold out here and you are no more asleep than I am."

Hair loose holding an oil lamp she opened the door in her white floor-length nightdress and stood aside to let him in. He strode past her and sat on her bed. "Those guards are going to get the wrong idea entirely." He remarked.

"What is it, Alistair? What do you want?"

Alistair sighed swinging his feet, "To apologise and make amends."

"Whatever for?" Anora asked frostily.

"I am _not_ going to tell you everything we discussed. There were several other matters that may concern people I am bound to protect. But as regards _you_, Anora, this is what the Grand Cleric had to say…."

Before he had fully finished, Anora had turned her back to him. Her shoulders were shaking and her face was in her hands.


	65. Chapter 65

**Chapter 65**

Dragon 9:35 Molioris/Bloomingtide Denerim [Present]

About an hour and a half later Alistair returned to his bedchamber and began removing his clothes with the same haste as he had put them on.

"Alistair," said Rous from the bed, "where the hell have you been?"

"I thought I told you to go back to sleep, Rous." He said.

"As if you telling me to do something were enough to make me do it…" Said Rous.

"Well, anyway, make me some space, I'm a bit cold here."

When he got under the covers he was shivering, Rous made some fussing noises and then pulled him close to her. "Thank you." He said his teeth chattering, her body was as warm as a freshly baked loaf she smelled as delicious, he was lucky man.

"So tell me…" She said, her nose almost touching his.

"Can't it…" Rous had reached down and clasped him very gently, "Oh!" He said.

"No." Replied Rous.

"Very well, then." Alistair sighed, more with contentment than anything, Rous had begun to run her hands up and down his length.

"I went to see Anora."

Rous released him and sat bolt upright, "Anora! At this time of the night…"

"Lie back down Rous, I'll explain." He said tiredly, Rous did as she was told this time and grasped him again.

"So?" she asked.

"I met alone with the Grand Cleric and she said certain things to me…" Alistair said and then he added, fidgeting a little, "You know, Rous, this simply isn't fair, you're literally pumping me for information…" Rous's hands on him felt soft but firm and she was moving them in a way that…

"Hard life you have, Alistair." Said Rous without an ounce of pity in her voice.

He pressed on, "Certain things about Anora, and other things… But… Ah… After the meeting I lied to her and told her we'd discussed routine stuff. Stupid thing to do… Whilst lying here earlier… I realised…" Alistair took a deep breath, "what a stupid thing that was to do because… Oh… I'm an awful liar… And Anora… Can read me like a bloody book, and… Thinking about it, she needed… To know… Maker! Oh…" Alistair blinked, "What that woman had said.…"

Alistair appeared to give up any attempt at coherence. He closed his eyes, turned over and lay on his back, his chest heaving Rous kissed his cheek feeling the light stubble abrade her lips and cuddled up into the crook of his arm.

"Please don't stop." He said softly.

She didn't.

* * *

Once things had reached a resolution and they had cleaned up somewhat Alistair said. "Anora cried… I can't stand to see a woman weeping…"

"So you put your arms around her?" Rous guessed.

"I did, yes, it doesn't…"

"I know."

"She never cries." He added, "But she cried tonight, and she was saying something like 'it's happening all over again…' with her face against me."

"Go to sleep."

"Yes. I have that meeting with your brother tomorrow… I think you should attend now… and Oswyn…" Alistair punched his pillow to plump it up before putting his arm under in and turning towards his side of the bed.

"Don't fret. Go to sleep, Alistair." Said Rous snuggling down against his back.

"Yes…"

* * *

They had got up a little later than usual and were eating at a small table in his bedchamber: scrambled eggs on toast and lots of butter, cheese and warm milk.

"Yes," said Alistair, "you should come to the meeting, I've sent a message calling for Oswyn to be there too."

Rous just nodded her mouth was somewhat full.

Once she'd chewed and swallowed and licked some of the butter off her fingers she sat back and asked, "What exactly did the Grand Cleric say?"

Alistair removed his spoon from his mouth and began to tap it on the edge of the plate but he didn't answer.

"Do tell, love."

"Rous…"

"Well?"

"Do you want to be Queen? Queen of Ferelden?"

The question caught her holding a napkin and Alistair immediately noted that she'd started to twist and wring it in her lap.

"But An…"

"Forget about Anora." Said Alistair pointedly, "forget about me. Just answer the question… Theoretically, in the abstract."

"When I was a child…" She began, "what little girl doesn't want to be a Queen? I used to pretend to be one and boss Fergus and Gilmore around, I guess at the time that's what I thought being a Queen was all about… Bossing people, getting them to do what you wanted… But now? After everything that happened… I'm just happy to be intact, just happy to see the sunlight coming through the window here, to wake up in the morning next to you… I don't know, it's not that I'm not ambitious… but I'm a Cousland anyway, and there is nothing better than that…"

Alistair smiled.

"So anything else would just be extra hassle, I could do without, I think… So I guess the answer to your question now, this morning, is 'no'." Rous concluded. "Why are you smiling at me?"

"'I am a Cousland there is nothing better than that', I wish I could pull off that phrase with such a straight face."

"Oh well," Rous said digging into yet more scrambled eggs from the serving dish, "but you still haven't answered _my_ question."

"Rous," said Alistair gravely, "you will never be Queen, we will never be able to get married…"

"Is that what that stuck up bitch told you?"

"No. To be precise what she told me was that she could assist me in divorcing Anora and marrying you, so long as I concentrated on conceiving an heir and basically left the Chantry up to its own devices…"

"She knew about our relationship?" she said looking up at him.

"She knew…" He said meeting her eyes.

Rous appeared to turn that over, "And obviously you're not going to do that." It was a statement not a question.

"Would you like me to?" He said with his spoon poised in midair.

"And have you be some sort of stud? Some sort of bed warmer? A really lazy part of me would love that… And a really lazy part of you would be very accomplished at it, I'm sure…"

Alistair lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Milady, you over-estimate my humble talents…"

Rous laughed, then she said. "But that isn't really you or me is it? Neither of us like anybody else telling us what to do, and we're not particularly lazy. Not yet, anyway."

"I didn't become King just to screw my way across Ferelden…" He said seriously pouring himself some warm milk. "Though at some point, I admit, I may have seen that as a perk…"

Rous tackled the extra scrambled eggs on her plate, buttered herself another piece of toast and ate it. "Making love always makes me hungry," she remarked, then she frowned thoughtfully. "What did you do Alistair? It sounds as if you really managed to rattle her…"

"Ah well, I think you're just going to have to wait for that meeting."

"Anyway." She said carefully wiping her hand on the napkin and rising from the table. "There's something I forgot to give you yesterday…" Rous went over to where some items she had brought with her were stored in a chest and began sifting through it. She pulled out something white went over to where he sat and handed it to him.

"And this is…?" He asked.

"Well unfold it…"

He did, "A shirt, a very nice shirt…" It was of slightly heavier material than he was used to wearing but it felt crisp and expensive… "An embroidered shirt, in fact." Alistair said noting first of all the red mabaris, on the left breast.

"Those are not actually embroidered but appliquéd, it's an Orlesian sowing technique." Explained Rous. "And I didn't make the shirt itself, it comes from Antiva but…"

Looking further he discovered two little reds hearts embroidered onto the peaks of the collar and scallop shell design around its edges and the cuffs were long and feathery with light stitching that resembled lace.

"That's a traditional Ferelden style." Said Rous, "But you're missing the best…" She got up and showed him the hem. There was some lettering there, in pale blue silk…

_'Alistair is a bastard'_

Spelled out twice around the hem, from the front to the back separated by a small Cousland laurel situated exactly in the centre of the back of the shirt equidistant from the two side seams.

He laughed, a deep happy sound, and put his hand on her cheek. "I don't know whether to praise your stitching or chide you for being a naughty girl, Rous…" He said and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips.

"I stated working on it when we had that wager… I suspected I would lose and it was originally intended to be a peace offering… Or perhaps a last ditch attempt at seducing you. I imagined the wreath on the hem falling just above… Well. I was laughing a good deal while embroidering which is always a plus. Fergus called it the 'bastard shirt' and dared me to give it to you… So…"

"Did you make a wager with Fergus?"

Rous looked away. "Five sovereigns."

Alistair whistled, "You Couslands certainly don't do things by halves."

* * *

Oswyn got to the meeting some twenty minutes late. Alistair was sitting with his legs crossed on the table with Rous at his right discussing horses with Fergus seated on his left. With a brief "Good day" Oswyn leaned his staff against the wall, straightened his padded surcoat and took a seat next to Rous, muttering a brief apology for his lateness.

"Ah, Oswyn." Now we can start." Alistair lowered his legs and sat upright.

Rous, eyed Oswyn's staff. "I was in the middle of practice," Oswyn explained.

"By the Chantry?" Asked Alistair.

"Yes."

"They love big sticks, apparently… Well, the reason I've called this meeting," said Alistair, "is because yesterday I had an audience with the Grand Cleric."

"I see." Said Oswyn immediately lacing his fingers on the table in front of him. "So what did good mother Elemena has to say for herself?"

"Nothing, I was particularly happy to hear." Replied Alistair. He gave a brief summary of the conversation he seemed to be slightly wary of Fergus, Oswyn thought and he kept a few things back, "Basically she knows far more about me, my ancestry and my private life then I am happy with her knowing." He concluded

Oswyn glanced across the table Fergus, whose brows were lowered.

"And," continued Alistair, "she would be quite happy to use such knowledge against me unless I quote, 'stop playing games ', as she calls it."

"Her timing could be significant." Remarked Oswyn.

"Explain?"

"Did you not first arrange to see her at the end of last year?"

"Yes, Firstfall or thereabouts. But she kept postponing, although the initial delay was ours."

"Hmmm," said Oswyn, "just about the time that old Beatrix died, then."

"It hadn't occurred to me," said Alistair, "so you think she was speaking authoritatively on behalf of the new Divine as well as herself?"

"I think we have to assume so, it would be safest…"

Fergus cleared his throat, "Can this humble Teyrn enquire as to what they have on you, Alistair?"

Oswyn exchange a long glance with Alistair, who in turn fixed his gaze on the table. "This doesn't leave this room, Fergus." He said severely.

"My word as a Cousland." Replied Fergus.

Alistair explained briefly about his Elven-blooded origins and about Niamh.

Fergus more than anything looked faintly bemused, "Theirin _and_ Elven blood, little wonder Rosy finds you irresistible."

"Fergus!" Chided Rous.

Alistair simply looked grim.

"I recognise, at this juncture, that this is no laughing matter for those concerned and I appreciate your depositing your confidence in me, Ser." Fergus said, addressing Alistair.

Oswyn nodded in his direction approvingly.

Alistair worked his shoulders and looked up. "Way forward…" He said.

"I presume you don't want to accede to the Grand Cleric's suggestion." Asked Oswyn.

"No." Said Alistair.

"Well, then…" Said Oswyn.

"Just send dearest Elemena a single word reply: 'No', sign it and let her go bugger herself." Suggested Fergus belligerently.

"I was thinking along those lines myself." Said Alistair.

Oswyn held up hand, "I wouldn't do that, not at this stage anyway."

"Why not?" Asked Alistair pointedly.

"Your Majesty, they are being astute, it would be behove us to be astute in turn." Oswyn glanced at Alistair focusing on his shirt, clearly visible under his loosened surcoat "with all due respect, if your Majesty is a mabari, make the most of the leash you have been given, then ask for longer one, before taking all the risks of breaking free."

Alistair smiled but Oswyn remained serious.

"Very well." Said Alistair.

"We should ship that lyrium." Said Oswyn.

"Lyrium?" Interjected Fergus.

"In a week, hopefully in less than a week we can get it to Highever." Said Oswyn gazing directly at Fergus. "In the same period of time we may be able to make arrangements here in Denerim for an appropriate ship to collect it and take it to the Free Marches, as discussed. Once we have explained, I'm sure the Teyrn will be more than willing to assist us, if only in return for the confidence that His Maj—, Alistair has just shared with him. If the Teyrn would allow me, Your Majesty, I'll be more than happy to brief him after the meeting."

Fergus shrugged.

Rous grasped Alistair's arm, Alistair put his hand over her hand and said, "I'll brief Rous."

"Good." Said Oswyn.

"Now," said Alistair, addressing Oswyn, "about Anora; last night I informed her of the substance of the Grand Cleric's audience with me as concerns her. You may disagree that…"

"We have to deal with things and facts as they are in these meetings," said Oswyn, "but in any event, I do not think that informing Anora was a bad idea. Of course, there's always the possibility, I emphasise the word _possibility_, that she might attempt to broker her own deal with the Chantry. But I do not see what she has to offer them. I'm sure Anora will be thinking along the same lines as we speak, she is, after all an intelligent and resourceful woman."

He paused, "obviously it hasn't been proven beyond doubt that she is actually infertile," Oswyn paused again clasping his hands, "it is possible that it was Cailan and who had problems in that department, after all, Cailan went through a pretty 'sociable' stage and as of yet no bastards of his have come to light."

"I imagine," said Fergus, "that since Cailan died about, what? Five, six years ago, any illegitimate children he may have sired would have come forward by now."

"It seems reasonable," said Alistair, "however, let us not forget that my own existence was concealed for over twenty years."

The others nodded.

"If I could go back to the question of Anora," said Oswyn, "as Elemena ever so tactfully said, time is against her. Further, she may no longer have the undivided unconditional support that she once did, and as I said, what could she offer them that you can't Your Majesty? "

"Don't forget 'won't' Oswyn."

"But the Chantry is clearly looking to the future, Your Majesty, anything Anora gave them would die with her. They have, even to an extent written _you_ off, focusing on your descendants rather than on yourself. It is your legitimate human heirs that they would seek to fully influence, not you. Therefore we should assume they have more than written Anora off since they would consider there is _no_ possibility of her conceiving a legitimate heir at this stage and nor would she have any more popular support than you would have."

"Yes, and the reason for writing _me_ off is again obvious." Rous looked at Alistair somewhat sadly as he said this and Fergus in turn, looked interrogatively at his sister.

Alistair seemed oblivious to these interactions. "As I told Rous, the more I was turning that conversation over in my mind last night, the less I liked it. And the Grand Cleric did warn me to pay as much attention to what we had said as what we hadn't said…"

"Ah," added Fergus, "but that may well be just a simple ploy to encourage you to believe that they know more than they actually do. To unnerve you."

"Agreed." Said Oswyn.

"So would you say then…" Alistair said somewhat cautiously, "Going back to our previous point, that as regards Anora the best way forward would to be to propose… An alliance of some kind? Maker, that sounds ridiculous since I'm married to the woman but…" Rous's hand gripped Alistair's arm a little tighter. He patted it somewhat absent-mindedly and murmured, "Sorry love."

"Look at it logically." Said Oswyn, "Because I think the Chantry has. Your chances of conceiving with Anora even if you did the deed, are low. Anora's chances of conceiving with someone else are low too, but additionally she would face the almost insoluble problem of having that relationship legitimised. Otherwise she would have to pass off the child as yours.

"Your chances of having a child with Rous… may be somewhat higher and simply because you are a male and younger, as dearest Elemena flagged up, your opportunities for successfully dissolving the marriage one way or another and remarrying without sacrificing _too much_ popularity are considerably higher, but of course there would still be a risk, Anora is not unpopular… That's why they made _you_ the offer and probably not her. You too, could attempt to pass off an illegitimately conceived child as yours and Anora's, but that's risky…

"Obviously the easiest solution for Anora would be if something happened to you… But then she would still face the problem of conceiving…"

"This is beginning to make me feel a bit dizzy, Oswyn, all these notional _conceptions_." Said Fergus.

"I'll cut to the chase then, Your Majesty, if you wish to remain in power and if Anora wishes likewise, it is my view that you will last far longer together than attempting to go your separate ways… Unless one of you voluntarily retires…"

"I'm not leaving Ferelden to Anora, not now, not when being King has already buggered up my life and I'm starting to have plans, and I'm fairly certain she won't quit the field either…"

"Then my view is you are both better served seeking a renewed accommodation…"

"Suppose we have…" Rous looked nervously at Alistair, "children?"

Alistair in turn looked at Oswyn raising his eyebrows.

"Well… They'll be…"

"Little bastards." Supplied Fergus helpfully, "Blood is blood, Cousland, Theirin… _Elven_… whether begotten on one side of the blanket or the other… Remember Gilmore, Rosy? Excellent lad…"

"How could I… Not a day goes past…" Rous buried her head on Alistair's shoulders. Everyone was silent for a while.

Fergus went very red and cleared his throat, "Rosy, I didn't mean… It wasn't my intention…"

"I know…" Snuffled Rous.

"I just meant… Look, I'll shut up before I put my foot in it again. But you know what I mean…"

Rous nodded.

Alistair touched Rous's cheek gently. "I think should tell Anora about Rous and I…" He said.

"It may be a way forward…" Oswyn said cautiously.

"Since she's going to find out sooner or later, anyway."

"It will be tough." Said Oswyn.

"Yes, don't envy me… Everything's tough… Every damned thing I take on. But, well…"

Alistair got up and Rous followed. They made for the door but once there Rous took a few steps back and put out her hand towards Fergus wiggling her fingers. With a sigh and theatrical roll of his eyes at Alistair and Oswyn, Fergus reached for his belt bringing out a money pouch.

Slowly and carefully he counted five gold pieces into her palm. Rous pocketed them with a contented smile and taking Alistair's arm they walked out.


	66. Chapter 66

**Chapter 66**

Dragon 9:35 Molioris/Bloomingtide Denerim [Present]

Alistair had to admit to himself that he had put off this meeting. For more than three days. In the end it had been Rous, who insisted he get it over and done with.

"You'll feel much better afterwards," she had said, "you'll see."

"I'll see, if I'm not dead." He'd replied. "She's not her father's daughter for nothing you know."

"But you killed an arch Demon Alistair, surely this is insignificant compared to that?"

"And I would rather do that all bloody over again than have this meeting."

Anora kept him waiting some twenty minutes. He wondered whether she had learned that trick from the Grand Cleric or had it been the other way round?

When he eventually got into her meeting chamber, he slid into a chair, almost hoping that she hadn't seen him, tugging at his surcoat because it suddenly felt really short.

Anora was standing where he usually stood, with her back to him looking out of the window, arms folded over her breasts. She was dressed in a dowdy shade of grey and her golden hair was pulled back almost painfully tight from her forehead.

"Alistair."

"Good morning Anora."

Even though he couldn't see her face, he definitely felt her scowl; it was as if the room suddenly got colder.

"Make it quick, damn you."

He took a deep breath.

"Theirins, you're all the same." She said, turning around, her face was even stonier than usual.

"Anora…"

"I will not go quietly, you may win, eventually. But I'll fight you to the last." She snapped.

"I would hardly expect anything less." Said Alistair, "but you might not need to; it would be a sorry waste of effort."

He let that sink in. "Well?" She said, eventually.

"I am not… I do not intend to succumb to the Grand Cleric's suggestion that I should divorce you or seek to have our marriage declared null and void… Whatever."

"Oh?" He could see her previous determination wavering somewhat, there seemed to be a slight tic at the left corner of her tightly pressed lips.

"As you may be aware, I would prefer not to be in anybody's thrall, but I would much rather be in your debt then in the Chantry's, and I would much rather make an alliance with you than with them."

Anora smiled sourly, "so I am the lesser of two evils. I'm almost disappointed."

Alistair cleared his throat, "I have never considered you to be evil, Anora. Inconvenient, domineering, damn stubborn, yes. But not evil."

"Do you trust me?" she challenged him.

Alistair pulled at his surcoat again, "You know, after four years, I still can't say." He said uncertainly, "You're a bit of a mystery to me, Anora, but I don't _think_ you're evil."

"So we are to continue as before, then?"

"Insofar as we can, my suggestion is that we do."

"Perhaps we should take our relationship a step further?" There was a mocking tone to these words.

"Do you really want to?"

Anora shrugged.

"Last time we tried that it was such a mess… I couldn't get it up, you were sick… Do you really want to try that again? Because I certainly don't." He paused, "I just wish the relationship between us could be, 'normal'. That I could treat you as you are, as my widowed sister-in-law."

"Except that I am Queen to your King."

"In public, yes, but it's a different thing in private…"

"And you wish to keep things as they are?"

"Yes, basically... Except…"

"Oh, so there _is_ a rub… A price I will have to pay."

"It's nothing that you haven't tolerated before," as he said this, Alistair realised just how much he sounded like the Grand Cleric, "I…"

"By the Maker, get to it Alistair!"

"I wish to take a mistress." Said Alistair going quickly red.

"I see." Anora spun on her heels to face the window again, "go ahead, who is this bint, anyone I know?"

"Unfortunately… Yes. Rosaura Cousland." He said in a rush.

Anora audibly sucked in air between her teeth, it was an unnerving sound. "That bitch."

"I guess I should say that if she met with your approval, I would be worried. Since she doesn't…"

"Fool, the Couslands make everyone their puppets."

"Is that why your father had them all killed, even Fergus's child?"

"It wasn't father, it was Howe!"

A sore point, obviously, she had never shouted at him before. Two mottled spots had appeared at the centre of her cheeks.

"Look, I didn't mean to upset you," he said, "well, I did just then but…"

"Go away, Alistair. Go crawl back into the hole where you came from." She said in a very quiet voice.

He stood up, straightened his surcoat. "No. Not quite yet. There is one more thing to say…"

"Well, say it and be damned."

"This agreement between us… If you… Should you ever… Need company. I won't object, how could I?"

"As always, you're assuming I'm both as weak and as low as you are. Well I'm not. Not that I need your permission to do anything, anyway."

"It's not weakness, Anora it's… I'm not going to bother to explain it to you. I don't think you'd understand somehow. Take care; I'll probably see you tomorrow."

She held herself a little more stiffly.

"I didn't want this conversation to end like this…" He said mournfully, he put a hand on her arm, she went to shrug it off but didn't quite. "Now that didn't hurt did it?" He said.

"You should go." Her voice was slightly feebler than before.

"Very well."

* * *

A brisk salty breeze was coming from the East, it made the ships' riggings creak and the waves of the Waking Sea a little choppy. Grain was being unloaded from one of the vessels and the buffeting of loose cereal husks from that cargo added a slightly sharper edge to the wind's usual sting.

"Beautiful view, isn't it, Oswyn?" Said Fergus, "on a clear day standing right here you can just about catch a glimpse of the black cliffs of Kirkwall. I used to come here very often with Oriana; she swore she could catch a whiff of Antiva on that breeze… Little Oren found it fascinating. One of his favourite gifts was a miniature model of a Fereldan ship that I gave him on his sixth nameday…"

Oswyn nodded, he shifted his posture in an attempt to adapt to the stiffness he felt in his upper legs and lower back. They had both ridden here from Denerim on horses loaned to them by Alistair. Fergus had given Oswyn (and Lawler) a few lessons before they'd left, the rest Oswyn had had to learn on the hoof, as it were. Despite his numerous protestations to the effect that Rous was a better teacher because she was more patient; Fergus had a no-nonsense practical manner about him that both of the other men quickly grew to appreciate.

Fergus let loose a bark of laughter noting Oswyn's discomfort, "Oh horses, how I missed those bloody things! Once upon a time there were horses everywhere in this country. I still remember it… And then they just… Disappeared and then we had the Blight and, well, you know the rest, it all went to buggery. Anyway, we'll be getting our own horses soon, straight from Antiva."

"Well, Fergus, thank you for your patience."

"The riding lessons? My pleasure. Nothing I enjoy more than inflicting further suffering on my fellow man. Tightens up the buttocks, too, the ladies like that. Bet that's one of the reasons why my sister taught Alistair. Practical woman, Rosy." Fergus laughed again, "speaking of which, your idea of getting me in with our young King, is burying me up to my neck in his foolhardy, harebrained schemes, for which, I'm sure, you think I should thank you…"

Oswyn glanced at him briefly and attempted to stretch his back using his stick. "We aim to please." He replied mildly. There was a middle-sized bundle at his feet.

"Spoken like a true drudge." Remarked Fergus. "Well, if you thought horse riding was tough you're about to discover sailing. Piece of advice: when you throw up, try to make sure your head is over the side of the ship, it's bad form to vomit on the deck, you know, it sloshes all over the place and people don't like it."

Oswyn was due to escort the lyrium to Kirkwall and to stay there for a few months following up potential contacts and hoping to set up the beginnings of a stable trading network before his return.

"I'll try to remember that Fergus."

"And when you get to the Free Marches make sure those Free Marchers don't diddle you, because otherwise all your suffering would have been in vain… And we don't want that now, do we? Our young King Alistair would be most disappointed."

Oswyn smiled grimly. "As you say."

Fergus took a few wide strides towards the hull of the 'Fair Chance'.

"You," he yelled towards the deck putting both hands around his mouth, "get that bloody pounce you call the captain and tell him the Teyrn of Highever wants some words. Quick now, lad."

Some five minutes later a dark-complexioned and unnervingly young man wearing more jewellery on his face, head and around his neck than many of the ladies of the night Oswyn had seen in Denerim, leaned over the handrail of the xebec.

"Fergus, _coraz__ó__n_, how can this humble captain assist the _nobl__í__simo_ Teyrn of Highever? "

"Ramiro, you dog, there is still a gallows in Highever town centre with your name on it… Take care of young Oswyn here," said Fergus, thumping Oswyn on the back making him grimace. "Otherwise the next time I see you in my port, mark my words, I'll use _you_ to decorate the bloody thing. Very pretty you'd look on it, too."

Ramiro raised two finally plucked dark eyebrows and looked Oswyn over, "He is such a charmer, your friend Teyrn Fergus, no doubt you will miss him… It is also hard to believe that a grand lady from Antiva deigned to marry such a barbarian. But, in any event, I assure you, I and my crew and will do our utmost to make your passage most agreeable." He said in a beguilingly confusing Antivan Rivaini accent.

"Make sure you do, Ramiro and no hanky-panky… I know your tricks." Said Fergus darkly.

"Humph," said Captain Ramiro crossing his arms over his chest and looking mortally offended.

"He's alright, really, Ramiro. Fancies women too, despite appearances." Fergus whispered to Oswyn.

Oswyn smiled in response and bent down to pick up the bundle.

Suddenly, Fergus looked confused and taken aback. "Oswyn..." He muttered and then trailed off. Then he launched himself at him, there was no other word to describe it, and enfolded him a fierce embrace.

Oswyn almost lost his balance... Eventually since the bear hug seemed to be lasting a fair while he said delicately, "I'll miss you too, Fergus."

That seemed to wake Fergus up and abruptly turning his back on Oswyn and wrapping his cape a little tighter around himself he said gruffly, "Make sure you come back, Oswyn," He added, "I just got used to drinking with you, and it'll be hard to drink alone again."

* * *

It was about mid morning and Rous was enjoying a quiet, soothing bath following a hectic few nights in a large wooden tub she has asked to be placed in Alistair's chambers. It had been made for her by a local cooper whom she had asked for a large barrel without a top, similar to one she had made for her in Highever. At first that had caused the good Denerim craftsmen some perplexity but they soon got into the swing of it once they got going and the cooper had even decided to make another for his wife who had expressed some envy.

Sometimes she shared the tub with Alistair and things would get a little splashy.

She was just happily drifting off with a warm flannel draped over her forehead when the bedroom door burst abruptly open.

Rous jumped and woke up at the same time, peeping indignantly over the tub's edge she found herself glaring at Alistair. The first thing that occurred to her was that he must have suddenly taken ill, because he looked pale and shaky; he would usually be hard at work at this time of the day, going through correspondence, indeed, now that this thought had come to mind, she saw he was carrying, or rather clenching, a letter in his right fist.

"I'm, I'm sorry... Rous..." he stuttered, sounding utterly unfocussed. "Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering… Could you read me this letter?"

Her surprise must have shown on her face. "It might be an important letter, but… If you don't read it to me, I'm not sure I could myself..." He trailed off.

"Of course," said Rous, clambering on to the seat on which she had been sitting inside the tub. "Could you get me a towel?" Alistair went to the rack by the fire and pulled the item in question off it. After stepping over the tub's edge, Rous began descending the little ladder outside it and then slipped into the wooden clogs waiting for her at its foot.

"You are so beautiful…" Said Alistair, draping her carefully in the warmed towel. At moments like this when he said things so spontaneously and with so much feeling, Rous could almost forget the ugly scar she felt defaced her right breast and with it her whole body. Almost.

After drying herself quickly she wrapped the towel around her tucking it in under her left armpit. Then she removed the smaller towel from the rack and wrapped that around her long, wet hair.

He watched to do this in silence then he handed her the letter. It had a grey seal with a Gryphon on it and was addressed to him in a very elegant cursive script.

She went towards the curtains and tugged them open. "Are you sure you want me to read this?" She asked, turning it over in her hands.

"Yes, I am."

"Why…?"

"I think I recognise the handwriting." Rous looked at him interrogatively.

He was standing next to her now, but he looked away. "I think it's from Neriya."

For a few seconds Rous gazed at him stunned.

"I may be wrong, but…" He said hesitantly.

Rous's jaw clenched somewhat, "I thought she was dead..."

"That's what I was told, but I also said..."

"That you didn't quite believe it..." Rous finished, "well, let's see shall we?"

She cracked the wax seal in front of him.

Once she had unfolded the vellum, she scanned through the beautiful handwriting at great speed getting to the end and to the signature there. Her mouth went really dry. She turned towards Alistair holding out the frail piece of vellum in trembling hands. He looked at the signature which unmistakably said, 'Neriya Surana ', licked his lips, bowed his head and closed his eyes in silence for a long, long moment. Then, opening them again, he embraced her tightly, pulling her against his chest,

"This will change nothing between us, Cosy, nothing."

"Do you still want me to…?"

"Yes." He said with quiet determination.

She cleared her throat, "'Dear Alistair," She began, "I really hope this letter finds you in a better frame of mind than when we last saw each other." Standing next to her, Alistair snorted, Rous glanced at him, he smiled falteringly, though misty eyed. "I must begin by apologising both to you and our daughter…'

There followed several other sentences both apologetic and mollifying in nature. Then Neriya began describing the birth of her and Alistair's child.

"'… Finally, they were obliged to summon the kind of practitioner who is described as a _chirurgien_ here. After inducing me to drink some alcohol, this good gentleman then proceeded to slice open my stomach and extract the baby…' Andraste have mercy!" Exclaimed Rous paling and lowering the sheet.

She looked at Alistair, he was running his hand through his hair, his eyes were red and swollen. "I have heard of such things…" He said faintly, "but…"

"I have only heard of such a thing when the mother is—" Said Rous.

"Carry on, please," rasped Alistair.

"'… Apparently, after Monsieur Younis had sewed me back up, my heart stopped beating. One of those in attendance upon me used a technique long known to the Dalish and managed to revive me. Alistair, I owe M Younis and him my life.'"

Neriya then went on to explain her physical pain, confusion and mental torment following the traumatic birth and described the emotional numbness she felt in her little girl's presence and how her many attempts at breastfeeding all failed.

"I am not sure I should be reading such things," said Rous. She felt overwhelmed and also little unclean for having trespassed so far into someone else's deepest and most intimate feelings.

"I know, love…" Said Alistair, "but… Please continue."

Neriya then went on to explain how she met up with Zevran Airani and arranged for him to deliver the baby girl to Alistair. Again, all this was hemmed round with expressions of profuse regret.

By this time, Alistair was muttering to himself and shaking his head. "I just about understand why she did what she did, now."

There followed a few paragraphs in which Neriya described her subsequent activities within the Grey Wardens in Orlais. Both Rous and Alistair relaxed somewhat.

Then Neriya began to relate her meeting with Morrigan. At that point, Alistair gestured to Rous to hand him the letter and identify the paragraphs in question. She did so, and he read them for himself several times over.

Alistair shook his head in disbelief, "I have a son... A son..." He whispered.

He read on. "Fuck." He said quietly, his grip tightening on the letter pulling the vellum taut, and then, "Fuck... Fuck... Fuck, fuck, fuck, so my son is with Flemeth, Flemeth!" He shouted. He dropped the letter.

"Alistair..." said Rous.

"Oh Maker assist the poor child! He's probably dead, then… Or worse, than dead." He looked utterly shattered.

"Alistair... Who is Flemeth? Explain..." said Rous bending down to pick up the letter.

In a voice that was both cold and distant he told her everything he knew about the Witch of the Wilds.


	67. Chapter 67

**Simply Swooping**

Dragon 9:38 Kirkwall

After finalising their travel preparations, Teagan entered the elegant and airy chamber they had been allocated in the Viscount's keep to find Alistair with his arms crossed over his chest looking out of the window.

"Do you think she took the hint?" His almost-nephew and King of Ferelden asked him without turning round.

"I don't know, Alistair." Replied Teagan, he never called Alistair 'Your Majesty' in private. "To me, she seemed like a typical Fereldan: independent minded."

Alistair nodded silently. He seemed mildly displeased.

"Well, at least our coming here wasn't entirely wasted, we're on schedule to check out those vineyards." Said Teagan.

"Yes, Kirkwall's loss will be my wine cellar's gain… Lovely country, nice and warm. Good vintages… You know, Teagan…" He said his hazel eyes going somewhat unfocussed, "I once thought that if I survived the Blight and didn't have anything much to do after it, if I were free of ties, I I'd come to a place like this. Start an import/export business or something."

"Really? And what would you have imported to Kirkwall?"

"Mabari dogs of course, it's the only thing. I hear even the Champion has one at home that she likes to show off every now and then."

Teagan felt there was a need to steer their conversation back to a more serious subject "How do you think the commander of the Templars got wind…."

Alistair frowned. "Bloody Meredith… I'm told Divine Justina sent a special envoy, beat us to it, a certain 'sister nightingale'"

"Sister…"

"Leliana, Teagan, Leliana. Obviously." Alistair's lips were pursed.

"Ah, but…"

"I could be wrong but I don't think she was working for the Chantry back then." He narrowed his eyes "She _may_ have been working for Orlais, of course, just keeping watch over us Fereldan wardens…" He paused "When I first met her, I thought she was half-crazy, we all thought that, now I think that could have been a bit of an act, just to throw us off the scent… Bards, you know." He sighed. "I wish I could have spoken to Hawke in private, made things clearer instead of just hinting about Orlais, the Templars, swooping and such. Offered her some support as we had planned."

"Too risky once our visit had become common knowledge, especially with the Chantry and Orlais on to us… But," objected Teagan, "anyway, I got the distinct impression, having met her, that she was the type of person that had she wanted to take the initiative she would have done so by now. After all, Alistair," Teagan paused ever so slightly, "as you know, not everyone aspires to political power and she struck me as being quite happy with her current station in life."

"That she did." Replied Alistair. "Did you also get the feeling that there was something between her and that Fereldan mage?"

Teagan looked thoughtful, "Now that you mention it… He said something about being a grey warden too, didn't he?"

"Yes, I think I met him once. He was one of my love's guys in Amaranthine. I seem to recall he ran away after they killed the Mother. So this is where he ends up, in Kirkwall with Hawke. Lucky sod."

"And that Captain of the guard" said Teagan, "Aveline, she was… quite… delectable."

Alistair smiled at the longing tone in his almost-uncle's voice. "I noticed that, as well. _And_ a veteran of Ostagar, Maker bless her little socks. Bet she's spoken for, though, she had that contented glow about her." He turned away from the window, "Speaking of which, at least we won't be delayed getting back to Cosy in Denerim and we _did_ negotiate that grain deal, so all is not lost."

"Always granted that Kirkwall doesn't implode before next autumn, of course," said Teagan pessimistically.

"Well," said Alistair shrugging, "there's a limit to what anyone can do, even as a King, isn't there?"

**FIN**

**Author's Note: **I found myself speculating on everything King Alistair said in his too brief appearance in DA2 and rather than just coldly tease it out, I decided to put it in story format. I guess this is what they call a flash fic, but to me it's a kind of rock tossed into a fast moving stream, hoping it will settle and that in the future I can use it as a stepping stone to get a little further, a little deeper...**  
**


	68. Chapter 68

**Chapter 68**

Dragon 9:35 Ferventis/Justinian Denerim [Present]

Oswyn's conversation with Neriya had gone on for at least a further hour, so there were, in fact, several other things to report to Alistair the day after he'd arrived in Denerim.

Now back in the palace he attempted to ignore the fact that his scalp under his closely shaven blond hair was somewhat itchy and sunburnt and that several areas of his face, including his nose, were still peeling. As soon as his friend the Fereldan ambassador in Kirkwall had clapped eyes on him he had advised him he should consider wearing something like the little hood that appeared to be all the vogue among the paler human Kirkwallians when going about their daily business, but, foolishly, he had refused to follow this advice. Next time, he promised himself, he would not dismiss it so lightly.

Although he chose not to comment he was pretty certain Alistair must have noticed.

Ah but it was worth it, just that gentle mare with the sweet almond shaped eyes he had brought back with him and had then ridden from Highever to Denerim was worth the hassle of the trip and any amount of sunburnt skin.

The talk was calmer than he had expected because Alistair had informed him that he'd received Neriya's letter and had, in fact, already replied to it.

Oswyn produced a list, "Neriya likes the names you've given your daughter." He began.

Seated opposite him Alistair who looked very relaxed and well-rested and was wearing just a shirt and breeches due to the summer weather, limited himself to shaking his head, smiling slightly and saying, "So?"

"Ah, well: moving on, she also had something to say about the Chantry and Templar influence in Kirkwall, the gist of it being that it's oppressive. She'd left her staff at the circle before coming to visit me."

Alistair looked at Oswyn interrogatively, he could not recall ever seeing Neriya without her staff except when they were being intimate or she was asleep.

"Actually, I concur." Oswyn added, "It's in one of my reports there... He waved at the pile of manuscripts he had just placed in front of Alistair like a devout chantrian making an offering in front of the altar to the Maker. "As for Neriya, she didn't think it would be a good idea for her to be identified as a mage either walking through the streets _in full daylight_, Alistair, or being seen visiting me. Although she commented she did think it made things a little clearer, 'I know who my enemy is now, and they know who I am' she told me."

"That's not good." Alistair remarked.

"It isn't no, it sounds... Extreme. But from the little I could glean during my stay that is not a unique point of view among mages in Kirkwall. Anyway, I secured an audience with the Viscount who seems a thoroughly pleasant man, but... Weak. The Chantry or to be more precise the Templars, it may be a question of the tail wagging the mabari rather than the other way around, seem to have stepped in to fill the void his mildness has left..."

"The Templars..." murmured Alistair his forehead creasing.

"Difficult to conceive, I know, but their Commander a certain Meredith..."

"A woman?" Asked Alistair.

"Indeed."

Alistair whistled.

"Yes. Apparently she is somewhat... Forceful... In the way that a tempest is forceful, or a blizzard..."

"I'll read your report, the situation sounds... Interesting." He said, placing a large hand upon the pile of documents.

"Well my conclusion is that what bodes well for our lyrium business may not bode so well for our regular trading relationship with Kirkwall... Possibly even by extension, the rest of the Free Marches."

Alistair steepled his hands.

"An unstable political situation is good for the black market but not so good for the regular economy, especially from the point of view of foreign trading partners..." Said Oswyn.

"Suppose you were to apply that analysis to our current situation here in Ferelden..."

"Suppose I were..."

"Don't be coy, Oswyn..." Alistair waved a hand in the air.

"We're not as far gone as Kirkwall, there are no power vacuums here, but there _is_ instability albeit produced by a Blight and a quasi civil war..."

"'Quasi'?"

"It never became an out and out civil war because it was overtaken by the Blight and it was resolved insofar as these things can be, by your beheading Loghain and marrying Anora..."

"So my sacrifice was not in vain?"

"Alistair..."

"I was being facetious."

Oswyn smiled. "How is Rous by the way...?"

Alistair sighed, "Demanding, loving... Demanding... I really don't know what's gotten into her these last few weeks." He paused, "But back to business... The Chantry, here in Ferelden, I mean..."

"The last deadline expired what, eight days ago now?"

Alistair nodded, "No exalted march declared against me yet, so... So far so good..."

"Heh... But we hardly expected overt action, did we?"

"Well no. And what you just said... There is no reason why I as a monarch should condone lyrium smuggling by clandestine organisations, if it can possibly be avoided in my territory I don't want to look weak, and there is no reason why the Chantry should endorse it, either. So both sides are just playing at being good little children..." Alistair's fingers started drumming the table.

"And?"

"I'm getting fed up of it... Frankly."

"Alistair... Governance is not war; it's not fighting darkspawn..."

"I know..."

"Sometimes an endless stalemate is a good thing... It brings stability in its wake."

"And sometimes it looks like weakness, indecisiveness..." Alistair was silent for a while then he asked out of the blue, "Have you heard of a Knight Commander Harrith?"

"Harrith?"

"From Redcliffe..." He added, "Someone wants to talk to me... Put in a request..."

"Who? For what?"

Alistair pulled a parchment out of his sleeve and handed it to Oswyn. "Here."

"A mage?" Asked Oswyn.

"A mage... Not just any mage, so Harrith, who's corrupt of course, says... He penned a covering letter."

"I would..." Oswyn scanned the note quickly.

"Seek further information, yes. I'll do that."

"It could be a ruse, Alistair, some sort of trap." Oswyn returned the parchment to Alistair and cleared his throat, "Going back to Neriya..."

"Yes?"

Oswyn consulted his notes again. "She made it clear that should you need assistance to tackle Flemeth, that she would do her best to persuade the Grey Wardens to lend some of their number to the fight... She had also heard that we were selling lyrium and expressed an interest on behalf of the Kirkwall circle. I think this was the primary reason for her turning up to see me. The Chief Enchanter, one Orsino, also an elf, apparently, very astutely sent her to liaise with me upon hearing that I was a Fereldan..."

"Oh, interesting, bloody interesting..."

"Yes, indeed." Agreed Oswyn. "Do you think some sort of friend price...?"

"Definitely." Said Alistair

Oswyn smiled, "Oh Alistair, mixing business with pleasure..."

"You suggested it Oswyn, and now you're saying you don't approve?"

Oswyn shrugged, "I was just testing you. It is as it is."

"How much would you advise, 25%, less?"

"Hey and let's throw in a couple of mabaris while we're about it..."

Alistair snorted almost laughing.

"No more than 10% I would say, perhaps later if things stabilize and dependent on their buying patterns we can go as high as 15%..." Reasoned Oswyn.

"And anything else from Neriya..."

Oswyn frowned. "There is actually. She asked me to remind you that you promised to do your utmost to free the circle and to end the practice of making mages tranquil. Finally, and I imagine this is confidential, she said you two made a vow to each other, a pact... As Grey Wardens..."

Alistair flinched slightly, "Go ahead."

"She wanted to know whether you would still honour it, should the time come and even though you've now... Broken up... Sorry, Alistair, this part was all a bit vague..." He added.

"I understand what she's referring to. I do remember what I pledged as regards the mages and, as you know, the situation is somewhat..."

"Difficult." Completed Oswyn.

"As for the last point I will reply to her when she next writes. Thank you for passing her messages on..." Alistair smiled at him and gesturing to the bags of coin sitting on the table in front of him added, "Seems to me you've done a great job, Oswyn. What do you think I should pay you for it?"

Dragon 9:35 Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

Du Plessis arrived in Denerim late one night in early Solace. He was staying at the Grey Warden headquarters and when he came to the palace the next day for an audience with Alistair this last didn't know what to expect.

Of course he'd received some briefing on the man from Dummond and Oswyn but he was somewhat taken aback to discover when he got up to greet him that the Warden Commander was rather short, perhaps even an inch lower than Rous.

It especially made it a little awkward to _faire la bise_, but he was put somewhat at his ease when du Plessis himself began to chuckle as he made a mess of it and ended up patting him on the cheek and saying, "Oh you are a big lad... Your Majesty." in Orlesian.

Also, although he was burning with curiosity to ask him about his mother, he had finally decided that in the best regal manner he should put business first.

However, once again the Warden Commander circumvented this by saying as soon as his behind hit the chair opposite, "Your mother would have been proud, I've no doubt, but your build definitely comes from your father. Fiona was a slight, _jeune fille__délicate_ even for an elf... tough as old boots, though, in character, and quite outspoken. Much like Neriya Surana in actual fact."

"Please call me Alistair, otherwise I shall have to address you as Warden Commander, Quentin, and that is a bit of a mouthful... What was she...?"

"It was a good thing she became a Warden and was a pretty accomplished mage because she was both fearless and tactless. In the most endearing way. I think you have her eyes." Said du Plessis, his gaze wandering over Alistair's face.

Alistair was silent for a moment, taking all this in. In the meantime du Plessis looked around the room and studied Alistair again.

"Wine?" Offered Alistair eventually.

"Good grief so early...? Of course, why not."

Alistair chugged them both a red from a jug he had to hand. Du Plessis sipped it somewhat cautiously and then nodded his approval. "What's it like to suddenly discover you're Orlesian by birth at least?" He asked.

"_Foutu_1...?" Alistair offered.

Du Plessis chuckled again, "Well I suppose you would see it like that... Your spoken Orlesian is impressive, though."

"I had a good Chantry education. I have been told, however, that my pronunciation needs some improvement."

"But the Chantry didn't quite manage to make you one of them..."

Alistair sipped his wine, "They didn't, no. And Duncan saved me."

"And now you are one of us, a Warden..."

"Almost unavoidably. And a Warden's get, to boot. I admit, though, I've been tending to downplay it lately."

"Probably as it should be. Discretion is mainly helpful to us especially in peacetime. Keeps up the mystique a little."

"So long as it doesn't result in negative perceptions, I agree. What do you think of Ferelden?"

"A very pleasant country, a little uncivilized... _Lits durs_2, wine's not so good; this one is excellent, though, Orlesian is it not?"

"Well yes."

"Hmmm..." Said du Plessis, taking another sip. "All the same I do miss my Michelle..."

"Michelle? Your...?"

"My dog, Alistair, I know, I'm just a sentimental old man..." He shrugged, "a wolfhound, excellent creature, but she was too sick for me to consider bringing her here..."

"Oh, I have a mabari, Meat, dogs are fine company...

"And they don't spook like horses or make as many demands as women." Added du Plessis winking at him and then draining his cup.

"Well, exactly. I'll introduce Meat to you later if you wish."

"I think I'd like that. Yes I would." He folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Now, King Alistair, how can this humble Warden Commander help you..."

Alistair placed his still half full wine cup on the table, got up and strode over to the open window. "It's a fine summer day..." du Plessis waited patiently. Alistair looked down at the courtyard for a while, a world away four storeys below, strong shouldered Jonah was mucking out the stables. For a moment he wished they could change places. "I... had intercourse with an apostate and conceived a child in order to save Neriya and myself from dying if we managed to kill the archdemon..." He smiled to himself, "V_ous savez,_ when I woke up this morning I did not have the intention of making that confession in such a direct manner or so soon."

"Neriya told me it was Riordan" said du Plessis gently.

Alistair nodded slowly still looking away, "That's not true, it was me; Neriya was just trying to protect me."

"It always sounded to me like it was the sort of _faux pas_ that only a young person would make... Not someone like Riordan." du Plessis, let that sink in and then added. "I too made a _faux pas_..."

Alistair turned and looked at him. "I should never have sent Konrad to arrest and interrogate you both as I did. That was a mistake. A blunder. After the excellent work all of you, Duncan, Riordan, and not least Neriya and you had done, unsupported by the rest of the order, in defiance of those then in power in Ferelden... We should have addressed the problem _de manière constructive_3, together. Konrad was a bit of a fanatic, a good man, a competent mage and warden but not the right person for that task. Choosing him to carry it out was my poor judgment, I was responsible for that. I apologise unreservedly, Alistair."

"Apology accepted. _Eh bien,_ so where are we now Quentin? Would the Wardens assist me in finding the child, _my son_? I know Dummond defers to you."

"My view is the Orzammar situation should take priority, but—"

"And I agree. Orzammar falls, so do we all... Where are my manners?" Alistair picked up the wine jug.

"No, no more..." Said du Plessis covering his cup with his hand, "It can disagree with me sometimes... I do not quite share your pessimism regarding the dwarven kingdom but it has to be a priority concern, nonetheless. I was glad to hear that you have allowed Dummond to start recruiting..."

"It had to be done."

"And, yes, I would suggest this be treated as a local problem, no need to trouble the First Warden who probably has many more things on his plate than he can comfortably deal with anyway. I also cannot see why we should not be able to raise a dozen or so Wardens between Ferelden and Orlais to find the boy. At the very least it should be good practice..."

Alistair felt as if a tremendous weight had just been lifted from his shoulders "Flemeth's domain as far as I have been able to ascertain has always been the Kocari wilds... I will see if the better heads than mine of the Fereldan circle can come up with anything more on her before finalizing any plans I will consult yourself and Dummond every step of the way of course..."

"_B__ien sûr__._"

"I am sorry you have come so far..."

"It is no minor matter, and not one to be properly dealt with in correspondence. I also had the desire to set eyes on my friend's child..."

Alistair smiled, opening his arms, "Well here he is."

Du Plessis laughed, "I think I may have some more wine after all..."

Du Plessis was due to meet Anora that afternoon. They had decided beforehand that Alistair would deal with the Grey Warden business while Anora would attempt to extract what information she could from him regarding the current state of Orlais. After the upset of the previous month their relationship had once again settled on an even keel. Proof, thought Alistair, that they were more effective as uninvolved partners than if they were fully man and wife.

Since there was time to spare, Alistair suggested that they should go visit Meat and the stables and du Plessis gladly agreed.

Meat, as usual, was slobberingly overjoyed to see Alistair growling contentedly and jumping up to lick his face, leaving dusty pawmarks on his surcoat; he was also delighted to receive the extra attention du Plessis gave him. They were just tossing his rather damp leather ball around the courtyard for him to go fetch when there was a clatter of hooves on cobbles and Rous came in mounted on Hope.

She was riding high in the saddle with her naturally elegant poise, wearing her usual style of surcoat, but the one she was wearing today was open and sleeveless because of the heat, and breeches; her face flushed from the exercise, hair pinned haphazardly on the crown of her head. She stopped a few yards from Alistair and du Plessis and dismounted in one graceful movement.

Meat immediately approached her with his tongue hanging loose from his well toothed jaws. "You need to keep up with your riding, Alistair, rather than standing around playing with the lovable little mutt..." Rous chided bending down to ruffle Meat's head.

Now he was close to her Alistair could see her shirt was sticking to her skin particularly the sleeves and around her neckline. There were beads of perspiration on her brow. If they had been alone he would have been sorely tempted to lure her into one of the stalls and following a few sweet words and kisses do something 'unutterable' to her as she was wont to call it lately.

Alistair blinked quickly a few times dismissing such thoughts and then said in Orlesian, "Cos... Lady Cousland, please allow me to introduce you to M Quentin du Plessis, Grey Warden Commander of Orlais..."

"_Madam, enchant__é_..." Said du Plessis with smooth grace bowing to kiss Rous's still gloved hand. Rous mouthed 'Sorry!' at Alistair over his lowered head.

"_Je suis__désolé__de vous avoir__dérangé_4_..._" She said in perfect Orlesian to them both.

Du Plessis looked from one to the other literally beaming. Alistair was ransacking his brain for a form of words to address the situation, he was about to say something along the lines of 'Lady Cousland is teaching me to ride' when he just managed to bite his tongue having realised what an obvious _double entendre_ that would be.

"Milady speaks with a perfect accent." Said du Plessis all eyes on Rous failing to notice Alistair's awkwardness.

"Oh I visited your beautiful country quite frequently in my youth." Replied Rous.

"Youth?" Echoed du Plessis, "Why Milady does not look a day over nineteen."

"You Orlesians are such shameless flatterers... You'd best take him away, Alistair, before he starts comparing me to the sun, the moon and the stars..."

"Milady is cruel."

"Of course I am but you should really ask Alistair here."

"_Parfois__cruel__, mais __toujours__charmant_5_.._." Muttered Alistair the words came to his tongue almost unbidden.

"Spoken like a true Orlesian, Alistair." Exclaimed du Plessis. Even Rous looked impressed. "There is hope for you yet."

"Actually," Interjected Rous, "I need to change..."

"Of course." Said du Plessis.

Alistair could swear that as she walked away from them she was swinging her hips a little more than usual. Du Plessis' gaze followed her most appreciatively. Alistair felt a flood of pride tempered by a sharp shard of jealousy.

"You are such a lucky, man, Alistair, such a lucky man... _Je vous envie..._"

Alistair blushed somewhat, if what was between them was so immediately obvious even to a relative, albeit very observant, stranger, he was glad to have made a clean breast of it with Anora.

"It is not a perfect solution but it is all I could come up with... Call it unimaginative or vulgar if you will." Said Alistair, "My marriage to Anora is obviously an arranged one. I cannot think of her as anything but a partner in a joint enterprise or my brother's widow; she, in turn, would never be able to care for me as I would wish... My father, King Maric, spent most of the time he was on the throne sunk in the throes of despondency... A despondent ruler does not a happy or active kingdom make and Ferelden deserves to be both those things. Needless to say, the Chantry disapproves."

"You owe me no explanation, Alistair... I am very much a man of the world, very much a Warden... As for the Chantry..." du Plessis held up his left hand so Alistair could appreciate his amputated little finger, "when it cannot extract a price in conscience or in gold it will take it in flesh. I have no great love for it myself. But what of Neriya?"

"I still love her, always will, but it seems to me she has moved on. Thank you for persuading her to write to me... It was painful... But..."

Du Plessis nodded. "Yes she wished to pursue her career with the Wardens and I suggested she go to the Kirkwall circle for further training... These things happen, you know. Lines need to be drawn."

There was a moment of silence between them. Eventually Alistair said, "Tell me something, Quentin, was there any explanation for how my mother came to conceive me after being a Warden for so many years?"

"None, I was ever aware of, none that she knew of either... In the later years every now and then she used to shrug and say, 'If a child has to be born, it will be born...' When later it became apparent that a fifth Blight was starting in Ferelden she became fixated on the thought that you, her gift from the gods, as she sometimes referred to you, might assist somehow in fighting it. She may have persuaded Duncan of that, they were firm friends after all, or he simply may have come up with the idea of recruiting you independently... but..." for once du Plessis seemed to hesitate.

"But..."

"She was well into her calling by then... It ravaged her mind, Alistair... It was horrible, painful to see, _pitoyable_6... She had been such a lucid person... On more than one occasion they found her standing naked or just in her night shift in the snow, around Montsimmard in winter it can get pretty cold, you know, speaking to things that weren't there, in a language no-one could understand.

Du Plessis had suddenly turned very pale and looked quite shaken, "One of the most unpleasant things I have ever had to do, and believe me, I have had to do some extremely unpleasant things in my time; you are an experienced Warden, Alistair, you know what I mean... Was to deny her request to come to Ferelden when the Blight was beginning... It _was_ the right thing to do, for everybody concerned, but somehow that really didn't make it any easier..."

"In her letter..."

"She mentions that...? Of course she does."

"She had no hard feelings... Don't know if that helps..."

Du Plessis shook his head. "Pitoyable... Do you have any more of that wine?"

1 Fucked...?

2 Hard beds

3 Constructively

4 "I am sorry to have disturbed you..."

5 "Sometimes cruel, but always charming..."

6 pitiful


	69. Chapter 69

**Chapter 69**

Dragon 9:35 Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

Despite the women scolding them, the children had all but managed to commandeer the fountain in the middle of the arcaded square. One of the little rascals was applying his hand to the spout making the water jump and lurch high up in an arc, so the sun passing through it made a rainbow effect and the precious water splashed well beyond the confines of its basin.

Alistair stopped for a moment to look at the children, playing and laughing half- naked, some of them dodging the spurt, others attempting to get under the spray so it plastered their hair to their heads.

"Paapa." said Niamh from against his chest and laughed, waving her arms, making it clear that she wanted to be one of them, running about. 'Pa-pa' was a new sound, but it had come some months after 'Ber-ber', which is what she called Bregeth.

"No," Alistair told her, "not today Niamh, we have a meeting, you and I. We're going to meet someone who has come a long, long way to see us both…"

He cast his eyes around the square, once again, and eventually espied a slight figure sitting alone on one of the primitive stone elevations a few feet from the arcade that were intended to be used as benches. Unable to help himself, Alistair smiled and carried his little girl in that direction. As he approached the bench, the elf looked up and smiled in turn.

He had cut his hair, Alistair noticed, no longer did it fall in a white wave, just below his neck. Rather now it was shorter than Alistair's own or least so it appeared, because when Alistair drew nearer, he realised Zevran's hair was now tied into tight little plaits that lay across his skull in lines.

"I must say, friend Alistair, I like Ferelden a good deal better when the weather is like this."

Zevran moved along the bench a little, Alistair, sat next to him, placing Niamh on his lap. "I think everyone does." He replied.

"And who is this?" Said Zevran addressing Niamh. In response, the child extended an arm and opened a hand like a little star and said, "Paapa…"

"She calls every man that, now." Said Alistair.

"She has grown since I last saw her." Said Zevran, "she was sturdy and chunky even then, but now I can clearly see she has your build." The elf extended a long graceful finger and Niamh grasped it eagerly.

"Poor girl, I hoped to see more of her mother in her… At least she has Neriya's eyes."

"Oh, I don't know, my friend, you do yourself no credit, if she takes after you she will become quite comely, if not as graceful as her mother." Zev tentatively tried to pull his finger away but Niamh would not release it so easily. "Strong too." He added.

"Have you seen Neriya lately, Zev?"

"Not since the little one's birth, no." The elf managed to release his finger and waved it in front of the toddler who squirmed in her father's grasp attempting to recapture it.

"She to wrote me, you know, a few months back now. Full of apologies…"

"Have you forgiven her?" Zevran looked away as he asked this.

Alistair's eyes looked troubled. "I replied to the letter… But… No, not quite, no. I don't think I will ever fully forgive her…. Or stop loving her. I'm not sure that makes any sense…"

"Perfect sense." Replied Zevran crisply.

"Anyway, I brought Niamh here today to thank you. Say thank you to uncle Zev, Niamh…"

He held Niamh up under her arms towards the elf. "Taa da roo…" Said Niamh.

"I think you're going to have to be happy with that, Zev." said Alistair.

"Argh, it was nothing, I was just passing through... An opportunity presented itself..." Zev addressed Alistair over the child and shook his head.

"Nevertheless… Now, give uncle Zev a kiss to thank him for his first birthday gift to you..." Alistair made kissing motions with his lips, which Niamh began to imitate; Alistair held her up towards the wavy lines tattooed on Zev's right cheek and the little girl made to kiss him.

Incredibly, Zev blushed. "Well," said Alistair, "Now you've done it, Niamh, uncle Zev is going to have to look out for you from now onwards, thanks to your magic kiss."

The elf sighed, "And we once thought you were stupid, Alistair..."

"Who's we?" Asked Alistair lightly, seating Niamh back on his lap.

"I, Leli, Shale, but then Shale thought all 'squishies', as she called them were stupid just because they _were_ squishy... Even Wynne did, I am sure, though she would never admit it. In the nicest possible way, of course. Except for Morrigan who started it."

"What of Sten and Oghren?"

"Oh Sten, he would never say _anything_... And Oghren didn't have thoughts, just drink..."

Alistair grunted, "Can't say I'm surprised..."

There was a pause, Zev and Alistair watched the children happily at play, "I saw the plaque, you know the one on the roof of Fort Drakon..." The elf said eventually.

"And did you approve of it?"

"My name is the first on the list..." There was a touch of surprise in his voice, his eyebrows went up.

"Your surname starts with an 'A'" Alistair pointed out.

"The Blight my only taste of heroism, commemorated for eternity…" He mused, "Well, for a little while at any rate…"

"Everyone needs to try something at least once…"

"You even put Morrigan's name on it..."

Alistair shrugged, "Well she _was there_ and contributed... to a certain extent..."

"Friend Alistair, this sense of fair play of yours, do you not think that sometimes you take it a little _too_ far?"

"I am as I am."

Zev's lips quirked, "I am so glad you have never formally contracted me... You must be a most aggravating man to work for..."

"I guess I should take that as a compliment..."

"In my trade clients with a conscience are by far the most difficult to please." The elf sighed. "'Just maim him _a little_.' 'You should ensure you kill the one with the dark hair, but make sure the one with the dark _curly_ hair is safe.'" He raised his eyes to the cloudless sky. "I much prefer the ones who say, 'Kill them all and let the Maker choose his own.' There is nothing like clarity…"

"I'm surprised you are still taking your own contracts… I heard that…"

Zev's whole body jerked as if he had just landed back on the ground, "What did you hear, Alistair? And from whom?"

Alistair smiled lazily, "If I told you, you might think I was…" He added cryptically. "I have my sources…"

"Ah well," Zev got to his feet.

Alistair was surprised to find himself a little unhappy that their conversation was not going to last much longer. Zevran had never been his favourite person but he felt that they had reached some sort of crossroads in their acquaintance and he would have been happy to talk to him for a few hours more, to actually catch up rather than chat so briefly. "I really didn't mean to scare you away…"

"As if you could, Alistair... I must rush; I have an appointment to keep. In respect of your statement that everyone should try everything at least once, _amigo mio_, should you ever need my services or those of my organisation, you should…"

The elf recited a stream of instructions. Stroking Niamh's cheek, Alistair said, "Could you repeat that...? I'm not sure I was able to follow…"

Zev turned and looked at him and then laughed seeing the smirk on his face. "Oh touché, Alistair, keep well and may the Maker be with you… And you, sweet child." He said tousling Niamh's hair.

Alistair nodded, "Likewise, Zevran, travel safe…"

* * *

Mother Boann grasped his arm only lightly.

"I am not totally deprived of vision, you know, she said, "I can see vague shapes if there is some light, but clearly that is no help at all to me. One day I asked a new child what my eyes looked like. He was quiet for sometime, I could almost hear him thinking, weighing things up, finally, he said, 'they're very creepy', in a teeny weenie voice as if he were afraid I would slap him or something. So I cover them up now and then, like today. I don't want to disturb people."

As she said this, Alistair could prevent himself from glancing at her face she had a strong profile and very pale skin; he imagined she did not go out much.

They had met several months ago when he was attempting to pry up one of the terracotta tiles in the chapel in order to deposit some of the ashes belonging to the previous revered mother under it. In fact, one of the children that she used as an assistant had actually caught him.

At first mother, Boann had been rather timorous of him. Quite understandably so, a man, correction, a large man, in her chapel early in the morning with a knife. How was she not going to be fearful? Especially given her history, which he didn't then know, of course, and the fact that she was blind… Resisting the temptation to run away, he had then proceeded, admittedly rather clumsily, to explain to the revered mother exactly who he was, what he was doing and why he was doing it.

She had seen somewhat incredulous at first, and again, this was not surprising. Eventually, he had managed to convince her, even though the Elven child she had requested to identify him as the man on the gold sovereigns had done so only reluctantly, and kept staring at him throughout their conversation.

After some talk, she had allowed him to continue with his activity and, in exchange, he had promised her to attend several services of the Chant. As he had first realised with mother Gertrude, extortion seemed to be a natural gift of all revered mothers or at least a prerequisite for their office. He wondered if they received training in it, and if so could he attend…

"So… You wish me to assist you in making a decision, along with some other people?" Mother Boann interrupted his idle thoughts.

"That is correct, Your Reverence." Replied Alistair. "And I'll introduce you to them when we get there."

"Mother Boann will do, umm… Alistair." She coloured fiercely and he smiled recalling how she had scolded him when they first met, "Suppose I have nothing to say?" She then asked somewhat anxiously.

"Then say nothing. That is an option, too." He attempted to sound reassuring but this meeting was a bit of an experiment and he was not feeling overly confident himself.

"It's the first time in a long time that I have set aside my robe. It is strange to be wearing ordinary clothes. Although it might be a good idea to get used to them."

"I was happy for you to attend wearing your robes of office." said Alistair,

"Yes, I appreciate that, but I believe some people may find it intimidating, so… "

"We are just in front of the room; I'm going to open the door now." Alistair was not sure how much of this narrative was strictly necessary, but mother Boann nodded.

He opened the door and they went in, Lawler closed it behind them. The others were already there and there was a moment of silence when they entered. Alistair hadn't told them that the revered mother was blind; he wondered whether that had been a mistake.

He cleared his throat, "this is revered mother Boann, I think it may be best if I introduce you all by name, and then you can… Well, describe your interest here today to her. Would that be all right mother Boann?"

"Perfectly." She replied.

"Well, this is Wynne… She's a Senior Enchanter of the Ferelden circle—"

"Oh, I have heard of her… She was one of the companions, was she not?" Said mother Boann turning towards Alistair. Before he could formulate an answer she turned back towards the mage, "I am so sorry; you're standing right here, aren't you?"

"Your Reverence I am most pleased to meet you." Said Wynne in her soft voice, clasping mother Boann's hand in hers.

"Likewise, please forgive…" Mother Boann looked somewhat flustered.

"It is nothing; I think you have just done the introduction for me. I am here as a member of the circle."

"Thank you."

Alistair proceeded to introduce her to Oswyn, Bregeth, who Keeper Lanaya had agreed could represent their clan at the meeting, Chamberlain Crabbe who took care of everything regarding business for Alistair, Brannion an elder of the Denerim alienage who had been appointed by Counsellor Shianni. From the corner of his eye, Alistair saw Bregeth scowl a little when Brannion and mother Boann exchanged a few friendly words, as apparently, they knew each other, he frowned at her and she smiling rolled her eyes at him.

Lastly, he introduced Fergus Cousland who confessed to her, "I have absolutely no idea why I'm here, really. Let's hope it's amusing at least."

Mother Boann's clear forehead creased.

Once the introductions had been made, Oswyn suggested the attendees seat themselves. Alistair sat on a bench placed at the centre of the long side of the rectangular table with mother Boann to his left. Oswyn took a seat at one end of the table and Wynne assumed the other. Crabbe, Bregeth and Brannion sat either side of Alistair and mother Boann. Brannion next to Oswyn and Crabbe and Bregeth next to Wynne.

Fergus said he preferred to stand and so propped himself up in a corner.

Oswyn then began a quick talk:

"This meeting has not taken place and you have not attended it…" On the bench next to him, Alistair felt mother Boann shift uncomfortably. "You have been invited here today because of who you are and what you represent but what we ask you to contribute is your _personal_ opinion fully and frankly, not the opinion or what you may believe is the opinion of the institution, clan or group to which you belong. You are also free to pose any questions you deem appropriate to the cabal's petitioners. You are asked equally to respect the opinions of others even though they may differ from your own.

"The King wishes to listen to what you have to say, this is the purpose of your presence here, and he may participate in any debate. His decision will be final and not reached until the meeting is over, though he may contact you with further queries if he deems that is appropriate. His decision _will not be communicated to you_.

"Needless to say it is expected that you keep all our deliberations confidential, even from those you deem to be your superiors in your daily lives and who may have chosen you to be here in the first place. If they were to approach you with any queries you should refer them either to me or the King."

After allowing a few moments of silence to let this information sink in, Alistair said, "I'm sorry if that sounds unfriendly, it is not intended that way, I assure you. I would suggest you look at it from the point of view that all responsibility for the decision is mine, which is as it should be, and therefore feel all the freer to contribute your sincere opinion… Are there any questions?"

"Are notes going to be taken of these meetings?" Asked Crabbe.

"No." said Oswyn. "And I would not expect any of you to ever refer to them in writing, even indirectly."

"Suppose that just taking part in one of these meetings goes against one's conscience or ethics, or beliefs…" asked mother Boann.

"Then you may request to be excused." Oswyn glanced at Alistair. "At any time."

"And any such requests will be granted. There is no compulsion here." Alistair added.

There was another pause. "Well," said Alistair, "Shall we invite our first petitioners in?" There was some nodding. "Lawler, if you will…"

Lawler exited the room and returned a few minutes later with two people dressed in the wool, roughspun and sturdy leather of Ferelden peasants. They had the smell of the fields about them too, hay, sun and earth.

The eldest, the man, must have been just past middle age was of slight build had a rather well kept beard and dark unruly hair. He took the seat directly in front of Alistair linked his hands together on the table and smiled rather bashfully looking to one side rather than making eye contact. Just above the line of his beard on his left cheek, Alistair could see the outlines of a port wine stain and the whiskers growing from that part of his face were a shade darker than the rest.

The girl was somewhat stocky, probably in her early twenties and had lank nape length brown hair and large brown eyes. Her skin was lightly toasted. She sat down rather clumsily as if she were not too used to chairs. She had a somewhat defiant cast to her full lips and she had no trouble whatsoever meeting Alistair's gaze.

"Good afternoon…" said Alistair, "would you be…"

From her end of the table Wynne said, "Why Enchanter Fonst… I never expected…"

The bearded man looked to his left, "Hello, Wynne." He replied his pale blue eyes blinking.


	70. Chapter 70

**Chapter 70**

Dragon 9:30 Frumentum/Harvestmere Kinloch Hold [Past]

Erno Fonst much preferred plants to people. For one thing, plants never argued, they never complained, never boasted. Just to survive was enough for them. Either they survived or they didn't, they also didn't continuously fret about where they were growing, be it imprisoned in a pot, in the wild, in a lord's elegant solar or in the scruffy little allotment at Kinloch Hold that he was tending this morning. It was simple and as more of a peasant than anything else Fonst, could appreciate that.

For the last two or three weeks he'd had a belly full of his fellow mages bickering and jockeying for position to last him a lifetime. They'd asked him for his written view as an Aequitarian, one of the few Aequitarians in the Tower, on their controversies and, following a brief conversation with Uldred, he'd given it, fully and frankly, like the complete and utter fool he was.

"I have spoken to Uldred directly. His intentions are that we will demand the Templars withdraw. I don't know that I am willing to follow, but I will be present to hear his argument."

But it turned out that despite that being what they asked him for, they really didn't want to hear it. Now, he was out of sorts with everyone: With Uldred because in reality Uldred wanted nothing short of a glowing endorsement, not a 'vapid promise to listen' as he'd described Fonst's statement, within his hearing, to one of his acolytes. With the Libertarians, because he refused to unquestioningly pay homage to their great new hero, Uldred. With the Loyalists, because they considered him a traitor just for saying he would listen to Uldred.

_Well Blight take them all and may they be forever exiled to the Black City…_

Fortunately, it was a pleasant autumn and his roses and vegetables needed tending. From dawn to dusk.

Once he'd broken his fast he'd snatch a couple of apples or plums from the kitchens and that was all he needed until the late supper that one of the cooks (whom he bribed with fresh carrots) would kindly set aside for him. He didn't care if the food was cold. Just not having to speak to anyone was a reward in itself.

So he weeded, pruned, watered and when he felt a little tired he took a break from his labours by reading a philosophical pamphlet called 'Daring to Know' together with a romance, 'The Silver Sword' he had got from the library. The best thing that had happened to him since he was taken to the Tower at the very mature age of fifteen, apart from the relief of passing his Harrowing, was being taught how to read.

Fonst could never read just one thing, he had to alternate it, his mind tended to skim things, to flutter, it was the romance's turn now. As he read, every now and then, he would shake his head. People in novels always behaved much more rationally and spoke far better and were nobler, than real people. Sometimes he wished he could go and live in a novel. With a garden attached, of course.

He was just browsing a very emotional passage where beleaguered Lady Klarabelle was refusing to allow gallant Ser Clifford to save her from an arranged marriage to the hideous Lord Tarquin, when he heard some rather strange sounds emanating from the Tower, like scraping and squealing. He closed the well-thumbed book carefully using a finger to keep his place and listened intently. Nothing. Perhaps his imagination was getting the better of him, perhaps one of the cooks' knives had slipped when killing a pig or a kid. It happened. He went back to his story.

A few minutes later another noise, like a glass breaking he believed, he looked up with a little apprehension at the Tower in front of him. He could see nothing at first and then he espied something at one of the lower windows thirty yards up in the apprentices' quarter, he thought, a flash of blue but it was gone as soon as he'd glimpsed it. He returned to his book a little disquieted.

More noise this time, screaming, definitely. Now there was clearly something blue hovering at the window, a robe… someone in a robe squatting on the sill… Making a hideous sound somewhere between shrieking and keening, he guessed it was a woman, no male throat could produce a sound so high. As he looked the figure shuddered and shifted, for a moment he could almost believe that she was going to jump down back inside, for a moment, but then something, SOMETHING seemed to lunge at her from inside and she scrabbled backwards, lost her purchase on the narrow sill and plunged down to the stone base of the tower.

By the time Fonst had covered the twenty or so yards to where she lay at the foot of the tower, he already knew there was no hope. She lay face down and her body was shivering in the sunlight as if she were freezing. He already knew there was nothing he could do. Magic couldn't knit hundreds of crushed bones, couldn't repair ruptured organs, couldn't cure death.

He clutched her hand and, strangely, she was still able to pull it away from him, boots scuffling on the stone. She was making gurgling sounds… He caught her hand again and, with a little effort, stroked it, and told her everything would be all right now. The Fade was a beautiful place for those who had suffered and the Maker generous and loving. He did not really believe such things himself but it was his duty to say them, he felt. After a while, the noises she was making stopped and her hand grew cold and still in his.

He thought about turning her over but he really couldn't bear to, he could only imagine what a mess her face would be, so he went to his little shed and got an old blanket he sometimes used in cold weather to snuggle up in and covered her. He didn't know what else to do so he clasped his arms around his knees and sat next to her.

Suicides were not uncommon among the young ones in the Tower, unfortunately; both mages and Templars. Mage suicides were slightly more passive but more horrific and varied, poison, demons, fire-starting, lightening, drowning, jumping… Jumping.

Templars, on the other hand, though less creative, tended to at least attempt to take others with them, drunkenness, lyrium overdosing but, above all, picking quarrels combined or not with the former, were very common.

Once, he recalled, there was even a suicide pact between a Templar, male, and a mage, female… So, so sad. Such a waste. It was one of the few things that he recalled had ever brought people in the Tower together. It didn't last.

Fonst was more logical than intuitive, but as he sat there thinking all this through he realised something had to be terribly wrong. No-one had come for her, no-one, and by his judgment it was barely past midday. The Templars should already be here, stomping about, asking him questions in that clumsy clueless way they had. Surely someone would have noticed the broken window, heard her cries as he did. But no-one had come… Which meant something serious was happening.

For a moment Fonst rested the side his head against the stone wall. He heard muffled sounds, groans and scuffing perhaps but it was difficult to judge.

He sighed and got up, dusted down his robe and followed the base of the Tower towards its main and only entrance. As he drew near, some fifteen minutes later, he pressed himself against the wall and peeped over and above towards the main gate which was elevated about the ground and only accessible via a narrowish cobbled stone bridge leading directly to the small dock, Kinloch Hold proper.

There were four fully armed and helmeted Templars lingering there rather than the usual two and they looked more agitated than normal, one of them was twitchily half drawing the sword from the scabbard on his back and then thrusting it back in again the swishing sound it made was the only thing breaking the silence. Usually the Templars would chat, banter and bellow with their helmets off but not today.

He'd been watching them for a few minutes when suddenly there was a frantic knocking and yelling from inside the large, thick wooden gate, the only way in and out of the Tower, apart from the windows... Fonst was too far away to actually pick up what was being said and he thought it prudent not to go any nearer. One of the Templars went up to the gate, pushed up his helm and shouted what seemed to be a few brusque questions, from inside answers came in a rushed panicked voice. The Templar then instructed the others to lift the large wooden beam blocking the gate then he pushed the gate open somewhat.

Another Templar squeezed urgently through the gap. He was not wearing a helmet, had a fresh cut on his jaw and started talking rapidly in a loud obviously agitated voice. One of his colleagues pulled up his helm and took him to the little wall surrounding the bridge. The Templar who had exited the Tower and who had dark curly hair leaned over the edge and vomited while his companion patted him on the back. Then he turned back and leaned on his companion's shoulder, while the others looked on. Fonst realised he was crying.

In his twenty years in the Tower Erno Fonst had never seen a Templar cry.

* * *

Dragon 9:35 Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

Fonst summarised all this for the people around the table, glancing every now and then at Wynne who nodded at him encouragingly. He didn't mention the bit about the Templar crying. He had no idea how HE, the blond man sitting opposite him, would take that, he knew, like everyone else, that he had trained as Templar and the last thing he wanted him to do today was take offence.

He simply said that he realised something had gone terribly wrong in the tower, and that he taken the decision to leave. He acknowledged he was a coward and flinched only slightly when the girl sitting next to him gave him a kick on the shins under the table after he'd said this. He then narrated briefly how he had wrapped his robe in a rock and dropped it in some deep water just off the island so no one would realise that a living mage may be missing and how he had swum to the shore in his smallclothes. He had been river swimming since childhood, Lake Calenhad was easy in comparison.

He then went on to recount how he had survived the hardships of the Blight and eventually found employment as a farmhand in one of the Bannorn villages. As amiably as he could, he told them that he would _not_ be identifying this village as the peasants there had given him succour, respect and employment. They had also pretended that they did not realise that he was a mage, even though he had cured some of their children's minor illnesses and occasionally used magic to defend them from the odd outlaw or darkspawn straggler. The blond man, whom he was now sure must be the King, nodded in agreement and Fonst felt relieved.

He then looked at the girl, whom he introduced to them as Jora and she proceeded to tell her story. How she'd been born into a family with magic in its blood who had never been tracked by the Templars or the Chantry and who had traditionally, in accordance with their talents, acted as healers and defenders of the village. The same village, in fact, where Fonst had found refuge.

The King waved his hand in the air, Jora took it badly but Fonst thought it merely a signal to move on to the true issue.

"The reason I have come here today is because I… We wish to request a mage be… extracted from the tower"

"Why?" Asked another blond man, this one had a full beard and pale blue eyes and was seated at the head of the table his chin propped on his hand.

"She has been summoned back to the circle in Orlais, she suspects that a direct order of the Divine is behind it. She fears she will never reach Orlais alive or, that if she does, she will be isolated from her peers." Fonst looked at Wynne again and drew breath. "Many mages dislike the circle or rather the circles imposed by the Chantry—"

At this point it seemed that Wynne was about to say something but the King held up his hand and she fell silent with a smile.

"… But the Ferelden circle is not as bad as many. We allow the sexes to mix freely, mages can engage their minds, there were, hopefully still are, political discussions… This mage, her name is Crispina Vallet… I know that's a bit of a mouthful…"

"But a pleasing one…" Said the King lightly.

Fonst blinked and smiled.

"But why—?"

"She is a scholar, she writes, Sire," Said Fonst grasping the nettle at last, "She writes treatises on morality, on governance, on the Maker, on the dilemmas both moral and practical facing many mages. She was born in Antiva and was taken as a child to the circle at Antiva City. Since passing her harrowing she has made it her aim to discover first hand how the different circles in different countries work so securing permission to travel between circles she has lived for several months in most of them. On that basis she has speculated on what the best system of governance for mages outside the conventional circles would be… She has used her experience to initiate debate within the different circles on these matters. She arrived in Ferelden in spring last year. She started off as a loyalist, now she is moving closer to being an Aequitarian. She has always, always worked within the constraints imposed by the Chantry. She has said that it is good for the intellect…"

"So why is she now fearful?"

"The new Divine, Alistair," Chipped in Wynne, "Justinia V…"

Fonst nodded. "She has been summoned by the Divine to the Orlesian circle at Montsimmard. At first, she was happy to comply although somewhat curious not to be provided with an adequate or even coherent explanation for the summons. But here have been rumours…"

"But everyone knows what terrible gossips mages are …" objected Alistair keeping his eyes on Fonst.

"Alistair!" Exclaimed Wynne indignantly from behind him.

Jora's eyes flashed again. "How would _you_ like it, _Sire_, if your entire life and well-being depended on the Chantry…" she spat.

Fonst placed a warning hand on Jora's arm but she shook it off and continued glaring at Alistair, who sat back in smiling smugly. "Well actually…"

"Jora, child," Said Fonst softly, "His Majesty is no Chantrian… He is toying with us."

"Well, there's not much you can say to that, is there Alistair? The mage has the right of it." Sniped Fergus from his corner.

Alistair leaned forward, lacing his hands in front of him. "I beg your pardon Enchanter Fonst, Jora, I am apt to make light of serious issues… Call it a former fighter's bad habit…"

Jora looked at his hands and did not respond.

Fonst gave as much as shrug as a man such as he could, "None of us are perfect. Mage Vallet certainly fears for her life but she fears even more for what scant freedom she has and for her physical integrity…"

"But what foundation do you have for such beliefs?"

"She has been confined to her cell for the last week or so. Irving, Gregor have been unable and unwilling to explain why, she has done nothing wrong to deserve such isolation. She has been told by one of the other mages that the Divine is sending a contingent of Templars to collect her and escort her to Montsimmard…"

"How do you know this?"

"The collective…"

"Do you mean the mages' collective?"

A look of relief crossed Fonst's face. "You know of them?"

"I do, yes." When they were in need of funds they had carried out several tasks for the mages collective and overall Alistair was left with the impression of an organised, well-informed group that seemed quite good at keeping their people in line. But he knew no more than that really, because they had mainly acted as the Collective's errand boys.

"And I keep in contact with her…"

"You?" Said Oswyn, "How do you do that?"

Fonst shook his head.

"You don't wish to say?"

"We will _not_ say." Clarified Jora.

"But why would the Chantry wish to do her harm or contain her?" Asked Alistair.

"Her writings are circulated from hand to hand. Sometimes in order to pass them on people even memorise them… She has influence, Sire. She wants to make people think for themselves, she is not critical but good at asking questions and sometimes that is perceived as being even more dangerous."

Jora said, "Sire you must know how the Chantry deals with people who disagree with it…"

Alistair nodded at her. "It is a pity that none of these writings… for background, you understand…"

"Sire, allow me," Fonst bent down and tugged a few loose parchments out of the small leather bag he had carried in and placed them in front of Alistair.

"Can I keep these, wouldn't you want them back?"

"Both I and Jora are quite familiar with their contents."

"Thank you."

"Do you have any idea when this contingent is due to arrive?"

"Do _you_ have any idea, Sire?"

"Jora…" Remonstrated Fonst.

"Nope. First I've heard of it, I'm just the King so no-one tells me anything… But Jora has a point, why don't I know… We can check right?" Alistair looked at Oswyn "See if there is something to this." and then turned to look at Wynne.

"Yes." Said Oswyn.

Wynne also murmured her assent.

"Is there anything else you wish to say? I will have to check that what you have told me is true before making a decision and there may be a price," Jora looked at him scornfully, Fonst patted her arm reassuringly. "Not a monetary price, I should say, I hope you understand that…"

"We live in troubled times, Sire, there appears to be conflict brewing between the mages and the Chantry. The new divine, she may be pressing too hard… Relieving mage Vallet could be seen as a way of saving the Chantry from itself… From its own worst impulses."

"And would you wish such a thing, Enchanter Fonst, to save the Chantry?" Asked mother Boann.

"I do not personally have a great affection for the Chantry. But it has its role to play, if it did not exist, something else would, perhaps something worse. People need to believe and beliefs will always be woven into a religion."

"Jora?"

"I expected more from a King…"

"Lawler… Enchanter, Jora, if you would be kind enough to wait outside…"

* * *

Once they had left Brannion remarked, "I truly feel for mages, not a few of them are from my people, but even those that are not, like my people, they live confined…"

"But would you say I should help this mage?"

The alienage elder spread his hands in front of him. "It would depend on whether you can establish that they have told you the truth and how much you would need to do to assist. I am not saying they are lying, they may be elaborating or telling the truth as they kinow it but not necessarily as it is. They did not seem bad people to me. The girl was a little headstrong but that is how the young often are."

"So you would give a qualified yes?"

Brannion nodded.

Bregeth cut in, "You should make sure this is not a trap, Alistair. Traps are often baited with good intentions and the pure of heart."

There was a murmur of assent among those present.

"When Justinia was plain revered mother Dorothea she had a good reputation as a pious woman." Said Mother Boann, "But her election was fraught, to say the least… She had many rivals and even more critics. It may be that she is now just exercising her power to show those that argued she would be soft and ineffective are wrong…"

"Would you say that what we heard here today was like her?" Asked Oswyn

"I… Yes, unfortunately. I think she is currently badly advised."

"And as regards the main question?"

Mother Boann lowered her head. "I would tend to agree with Brannion. The Chantry's main aim in respect of the circle should be to protect non-mages from the potentially devastating effects of magic, not oppress mages for the sake of it."

"Wynne?"

"Erno Fonst was always a little strange, a little withdrawn, but generally prudent and practical, especially for a mage… I was happy to discover he had survived… I would take what he says with some seriousness. He is no fanatic, no fire-brand… The fact that he has come here with this matter, risking discovery, means he regards it as one of importance and he may well be right."

"And of mage Vallet?"

"I have heard of her, she belongs to the new generation. I confess to not having read anything she wrote… It is also sometime since I myself have reported to the Tower. I would ask that you bear with me and I shall see if I can confirm some of the details of what has been said here today."

"Chamberlain Crabbe?"

"Check it's not too dear, Sire." He replied gruffly, "And I don't mean just money." The dwarf gestured towards the purse on his belt, "You can win a war but loose the peace if the price is not right. As for mages…" He shrugged.

"I shall bear that in mind…" Said Alistair, "Bregeth, it's no secret that Dalish Keepers are mages… How does that work?"

"In what sense?" she enquired fiddling with her dreadlocks.

"Are there no cases of Keepers being possessed?"

"Of course there are. But to a certain extent all mortals are susceptible to possession, except perhaps dwarves…" Bregeth glanced at Crabbe, who grinned at her. "But in our clans according to our tradition a Keeper is the clan leader but they must also, like any of the clan's members commit to a _Vir_…" She realised most of the others were looking at her somewhat confused and lowered her hands to her lap and set her features. "That is to say, they must also carry out one of the set of duties that are carried out by all the members of the clan, which can be either hunting, hearth keeping or crafting."

Alistair recalled Lanaya doing the washing at the stream when he last met her.

"All Dalish, who have the capacity, should contribute to the clan's well-being in one of these ways… I have sometimes thought that this also helps minimise the dangers of being possessed. Keepers do not spend their time solely occupied in magic or in the company of other magic practitioners, they have contact with the reality around them. They labour side by side every day with their clan folk who will pick up fairly soon is something is amiss…"

"Much as Enchanter Fonst does now." Suggested Wynne.

"Yes." Replied Bregeth. "That is what I thought when I heard him speak."

"So Fonst may have found a good way for mages to coexist without being supervised by a circle…" Said Oswyn.

"He _may_ have, Alistair…" Said Wynne. "It might work for him and Jora but nothing can ever be certain. Especially when it concerns magic."

"Fergus?" Fergus' chin was on his neck, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked as though he may have nodded off in his corner though when Alistair said his name he raised his head soon enough.

"Hmmmm… What are the policy implications of this?"

Oswyn glanced at Alistair and then replied. "We'll be discussing those at another meeting, for the time being do you have an opinion on what we've heard today?"

"Do we know how many mages are living outside the circle?"

Oswyn opened his arms.

"I see, so there could be many hundreds or just a few dozen… Even less… That doesn't give us much to work on by way of comparison…"

"No it doesn't." Agreed Oswyn.

"Oh to the Black City and back with it! Let's just say yes for fun and games…"

Oswyn looked at Alistair. "I think that's a no…"

Fergus said "Huh!" and resumed his former posture.

"I think we should wind up…" Oswyn said, Alistair nodded his acquiescence.

* * *

Once the other had left Alistair, Oswyn and Fergus were alone, save for Lawler seated discreetly by the door.

"As the Dalish woman said, good head on those shoulders, could be a trap." Opined Fergus who still hadn't sat down.

"It could be." Echoed Oswyn.

"But this Fonst doesn't seem to be the type of person who would allow himself to be used in that manner… Wynne clearly doesn't believe so… Obviously we'll have to wait until she reports back." Said Alistair, his fingers drumming on the table.

"Wynne…" Said Fergus.

"Wynne was one of the companions. I trust her implicitly." Replied Alistair looking at him sternly.

"Right." Replied Fergus. "If this has to be done…"

"I suggest Dean and some of his men…" Said Oswyn quickly.

"Definitely." Agreed Alistair, "And I'm not very amused by the Divine sending a squad of Templars over our borders without so much as a 'by your leave, Your Majesty'…"

"You could write her a prissy letter, then, Alistair. But really…We should go along." Said Fergus.

"'We'?" Asked Oswyn.

"Yes. Alistair and I. How about it, Alistair?" Fergus suddenly seemed animated, "It's been some time since I picked up a sword for real… Hand's getting itchy… There's a blacksmith in Highever who makes armour for the Templars… We could pay him a visit…"

"Oh by the Maker, Fergus! Please, this is not…" Said Oswyn, but then he paused when he noticed Alistair eyeing Fergus.

"Last one to say 'yes' is a sissy?" Suggested Fergus.

_**Author's Note:**__ Dear Readers, sincere apologies for being so late with this instalment. This chapter was a bit of a challenge, RL intervened somewhat and for the better, with offers of work. The future holds puppies! Or one puppy at least… And I also feel free to blame one Geralt of Rivia…_


	71. Chapter 71

**Chapter 71**

Dragon 9:35 Kingsway/Parvulis Denerim [Present]

After their spat a few weeks ago Alistair and Anora had moved on to the exquisitely courteous phase. This would be followed by the professional, detached phase, to end up where they had began at the mutually supportive phase. Anora sighed, perhaps she was getting a little bored with their continuous cycling too…

"Not too bad…" Tepid words but they had the ring of truth about them. "I am sorry we argued the other day…" Not so sincere then. "Especially when I remember I used to reproach Cailan for his lack of frankness with me rather than for his infidelities… And you were frank with me. And I… Didn't like it…"

"And then you, very frankly, scolded me." Alistair smiled.

"Oh I did."

"Anyone ever tell you how good at that you are?"

"Not as such but Cailan used to look at me with big, sad eyes afterwards and promise never to do whatever it was again… But he always did."

Alistair nodded, neither thing surprised him. He summoned his courage. "Look at this." He slid a little velvet bag across the table towards her.

Anora raised her precisely plucked eyebrows, picked up the bag loosened the cord and spilled the contents into her hand. The pearls were fat, heavy and glossy with an almost golden lustre. Anora let the necklace trickle under its own weight from one small white hand to another, sighed and put it on the table…

"It's beautiful." She said coldly and then, "Exquisite."

Alistair was piling up the books and parchments he'd used for the meeting. "It's for you…" He said not looking at her.

"You're mocking me, aren't you? It's for that woman…"

"No, I've bought something else for her, I admit. The pearls are for you." He almost had his back to her, he was heading for the door carrying the pile of books.

"Alistair… Stop, turn around and look at me." Anora got to her feet and picked up the necklace. Alistair seemed to cringe but did as he was told placing the books on the table again. "Why?" She asked.

He looked at the table. "Because… It occurred to me… That I have never given you anything… And for all our differences, even if we weren't married… You would be the nearest thing I had to a relative, and I don't have many of those… Well, none, really, apart from you… So…"

"You're not going to send me away… This isn't some sort of… Apology?"

"Anora… Please. That would be ridiculous… Ferelden would loose its best statesman… stateswoman… Whatever… In one stroke. It's because…" He took a deep breath, "It's Kingsway my name day month. Not that I know which day is my name day, but… Well, I'm a year older."

She listened with her head tilted to one side. "Come here. Put this on me." She said holding out the necklace to him.

He crossed over to where she was, took the necklace from her.

"And yet you never seem to agree with me… At this meeting…"

Alistair who was at least a head and a half taller than her, draped the necklace around her neck.

"Well, of course I don't… Look, that. It's nothing personal… It's the way I am. I'm contrary… Born like that. Why, in the Chantry the good mothers used to pull me out of class by my ear I used to annoy them so much…" He started fiddling with the catch that seemed far too small for his big fingers. "You've no idea how much work in the kitchen I had to do as punishment. And I hate kitchen work, scouring pans and those big cauldrons, I really, really do…"

"I can't imagine you with your arms in soapy water up to your elbows…"

"Damn…" The catch slipped. "In _cold_ _greasy_ water, more like… Wielding a stiff wire brush…"

"That last I can." She said and giggled. "I can just picture you scrubbing away furiously."

Alistair smiled. "Definitely _not_ my favourite weapon… Give me a sword any day." He managed to do the necklace up. "There you go…"

Anora toyed with it and turned towards him. "Wait here." She bustled towards the door and exchanged a few words with one of the guards. "You're going away…" She said closing the door behind her and turning back towards him.

"To Highever, yes, in a day or two."

"With her?"

"No with Fergus… Rous will be going to Lothering…"

"Ah, she endowed that Chantry there."

"Exactly."

"What will you be doing in Highever?" In response, Alistair frowned slightly. "Is it one of those things I'm better off not knowing?"

"Very much so, I'm afraid."

There was an awkward silence.

"Do you know where pearls come from?" She asked him eventually.

"Oysters. They're really delicious to eat, Anora." He added, recalling a day a few months ago where he and Rous had stopped at a shack on the beach and tied up the horses. 'You _must_ try these…' Rous had said to him.

"You swallow them raw." He continued, "You prise open the shell with a knife and then tip them into your throat… Like so." He mimed the action. "They're cold and squelchy and…"

Anora winced. Alistair paused. He was just about to go on to hint that they tasted like the sea and… That would not have been appropriate.

"Yes but why do oysters _make_ pearls?" She asked him.

"I have no idea."

There was a discreet knock on the door. Anora hastened to it and the guard gave her a hand mirror.

She held it in front of her. She pulled herself up a little straighter and… Preened turning her head this way and that without taking her eyes off the mirror. A pink flush came into her cheeks. Alistair realised he had never seen her preen before. It was rather fascinating.

"It suits me, does it not?" She asked.

"It suits you very well."

"I shall have to buy a new dress to go with it. Perhaps two."

"Why not?"

"Pearls…" Anora said picking up one of the fine orbs and holding it out between her thumb and index, "Come about, so the theory goes, because the oyster gets annoyed… When a grain of sand or two gets trapped within its shell, the poor creature in order to reduce its discomfort coats it in a layer of nacre… That smooth, hard whitish silvery rainbow coloured substance that you see within the shell… By adding layer after layer a substantial pearl is eventually created… All around a minute troublesome grain of sand."

"I did not know…"

"So from irritation comes beauty…" She said releasing the necklace again. "Do you think there is a message for us both there?"

"Perhaps." Said Alistair smiling at the inference and picking up his books again. "In any event, it is good to see you happy."

"Thank you, Alistair, thank you…" She ran over quickly and pecked him on the cheek and opened the chamber door for him on his way out.

* * *

Rous lifted her healthy breast, squeezed it slightly, tweaked the nipple somewhat and grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. With utmost care, she handled the scarred one in a similar fashion. Then she ran her hands over her belly rubbing it lightly, turning to the side for a different view.

Then she tossed her hair and started scanning it very carefully for any grey strands. She found more than she was comfortable with and screwed up her face as she pulled them out one by one. Her mother had gone grey in her late thirties, she recalled, a disturbing thought.

_'Breathe'_, she thought, she closed her eyes for a moment willing herself to let it all go attempting to ease the tension she felt from her shoulders and her tight chest. _'Think about something else…'_ She instructed herself, like what was Alistair doing and why was the mirror here and not somewhere else?'

She looked over to the other side of their bedchamber. Her not quite Templar was taking longer than usual to disrobe and, at the moment, appeared to be sorting through his discarded clothing while sitting on the bed. Curious…

"Alistair," she said, "What is the mirror doing here?"

"Hmmm…" He replied. "What Cosy?" He asked, setting his garments to one side, getting up from the bed and loping towards her as if he were wearing a sword even when he was quite naked.

"This mirror," she repeated pointing at it, "Why is it here and not somewhere else?"

"I don't…"

"Well it could be at the foot of the bed…"

"At… Oh I see." He said. He stroked her hair. "Why don't you turn around and face it?"

Without thinking about it over much she did as he asked. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. She reached back and over to fondle his cheek. There was a glint in his hand, but she thought nothing of it, a trick of the light perhaps, and closed her eyes as he put his arms around her, kissing her neck, one of her most sensitive places ever so gently. A few seconds later when he stepped back she felt something cold nestling between her breasts. She opened her eyes.

An emerald on a gold chain almost the size of a quail's egg lay just over her heart. She gasped.

"I bought it in Orzammar… because I was thinking of the colour of your eyes." He said quietly kissing her again.

Rous held it up to the light of one of the candles and its glimmer seemed to fill the darkened room.

"I never asked… I never…"

"Of course you didn't. But you've already given me a gift, I'm just responding in kind. I was told I could have had it cut, but I like it how it is: raw and irregular."

"Raw…" Murmured Rous and turned around wrapping her arms about his waist. They pressed their bodies together the emerald trapped between them as their mouths sought each other and made contact their lips and tongues frolicking teasingly.

"Thank you…" She said, "It is really beautiful. Now tell me what you want me to do in exchange for it…" She added smiling up at him perkily.

Alistair chuckled, "Well, I wasn't really… But since you're asking…" He paused, "What were you saying about putting the mirror at the foot of the bed?"

"In Orlais I understand they even put them on the ceiling… And not just in brothels, either…"

"On the ceiling? Oh Maker… Those Orlesians… Just so decadent…I'm not sure, wouldn't that be a little distracting?"

"Weren't you born in Orlais, Alistair?" She enquired batting her eyelashes very innocently.

"Yes I was, but…"

She grasped his Grey Warden pendent. Rous stroked his flank, running her hand over his soft smooth skin there, purposely ignoring other things that were going on in that area of his anatomy. "Mistress…" She prompted.

"Mistress…" He echoed looking down at her.

Still holding the pendent Rous turned them both around and started heading for the bed. "Shall we put that innate decadence to the test?"

"If you really, really insist… But I'm probably a beginner compared to you…" He said his large feet padding meekly on the flagstones behind hers.

They got to the edge of the four-poster. "Lay down Alistair…" She said.

He did. She knelt on the bed next to him, bent over and put her mouth against his again, reaching out towards his waist and clasping him as she did so.

A few minutes later, having released him, she broke their kissing for the second time and was about to straddle him when he said, "Ah… No, I…" He sat up abruptly. "Cosy, I can't." He said.

"But…" Rous looked down at him. He meant it literally. She looked back up at his face. His lips were pursed, his features tight.

"I'm sorry…" He ran his arm across his eyes, "I need a drink…" He was poised to throw his legs over the side of the bed.

Rous put her hand on his knee, "What happened?"

Alistair looked down at her hand and rubbed the back of his head.

"That thing you were going to do just then… I… It brought back memories. Bad ones."

"Oh." Said Rous suddenly realising. "Oh."

"Not your fault." He added quickly.

"Alistair." She said, "I'm not her."

"I know you're not…"

"I love you."

"I know that."

"And I would never hurt you…"

"I know that, too. Look…"

She caught him in her arms and lay her head on his chest listening to his heart for a while. "You can't let the recollection of what that women did to you limit you, _us_, in any way, Alistair. It's not healthy and it's not right."

"Easier said…" He remarked stroking her hair.

"Have you ever confronted it directly? Did you talk about it with Neriya at all?" Rous asked looking up at him.

Alistair flexed his shoulders. His discomfort was obvious. "Not really. You see I didn't want to add to her guilt. I knew she felt guilty about persuading me, she shouldn't have; I am responsible for my own decisions. But… We just sort of decided to work around it, I guess… Come to think of it, that may be part of the problem."

Rous thought about that. "I understand some people cope better with bad memories by burying what happened and not mentioning it ever again. You and I, we're not like that, I don't think. We're talkers and doers…"

"Perhaps…"

"You don't know how many times I went over with Fergus what happened to me… To tell you the truth, not even _I know_ anymore. I talked it through again, and again until it became old and stale and I got tired of hearing my own voice twittering on about it… I did the same for Fergus, we used to take these long walks together or sit up all night drinking and talking, we took it in turns… It brought us closer together. And then, eventually, I was able to stop. Fergus was able to stop. It still troubles me now and then but I think I came to reconcile myself to it, in the main. Somehow…"

"But looking at what happened to me now, it seems so trivial, so…"

"Yet it's still playing on your mind. Do you dream about it?"

"Sometimes, yes…"

"And not good ones, I bet."

"Embarrassing dreams. Dreams where I'm naked and helpless, even a child sometimes, and… Nasty things happen to me…" He sighed.

"As if _you_ were the son you conceived."

"Yes, perhaps." Alistair replied thoughtfully. "That makes sense, in a very twisted and confusing sort of way…"

"If you get any more of those dreams, tell me about them. I promise to listen. And search for your son. You must do that, you promised me you would."

"I will."

Rous held up the jewel in front of his eyes and said in a cajoling voice, "Promise me Alistair, you naughty little boy, you, promise me…"

"I do. I do. Alright?" He was getting tetchy.

She let the emerald drop, "I will join you in a drink later but, for now…" she began moving all over the large bed on all fours gathering the many pillows and cushions strewn on it and piling them up against the headboard, aware of Alistair's hazel eyes following her all the while.

"This is your place, My Lord," she said once she'd finished, pointing to a cushion she had set before the headboard, Alistair took his place. "Now lean back against the other pillows and cushions." Smiling slightly he did so and put his legs out straight in front of him. "I see we have recovered fully from our little mishap…" She said running a hand over his hair.

"Mishap? What mishap?" He asked teasingly.

"And where would you say my place is, Alistair?"

"Here," He said pointing downwards. "Right here."

"I would never have guessed…"

"King's orders. Get to it. Now…"

"My, we are so forceful, all of a sudden…" She said straddling his waist. "Are we sure?" She said kissing his cheek very lightly.

"Oh, yes, we are… We definitely are…"

* * *

He'd never mentioned _those_ dreams before, not even to Neriya. As he'd attempted to explain to Cosy, after everything that had happened it seemed so trivial. But he definitely felt more comfortable looking her in the eyes, as he was now, while she was riding him rather than lying below her.

Her graceful fingers touched his chest and she seemed to be gasping. He put one of his hands over hers and pressed it even closer to his skin. He closed his eyes and for a moment concentrated on the very pleasant feeling of her moving around him.

She'd been a bit short tempered of late and he'd wondered whether she was getting fed up of him, now the initial thrill had passed. _He_ certainly couldn't get enough of _her_, that was for sure, but after Neriya…

Her hands moved to his shoulders, pressing into his muscles there, he blinked, suddenly those clear green eyes of hers misted over and her head went back exposing her throat.

"Oh Maker! Alistair… Oh, bloody hell! Oh…"

He clasped her against his chest as she struggled, shuddered and climaxed… Well, at least, she was still calling out his name.


	72. Chapter 72

**Chapter 72**

Dragon 9:35 Parvulis/Kingsway Denerim/Highever/Redcliffe**  
**

They'd started off for Highever from Denerim at dawn and what little conversation there was between them was on the harmless generalities of a soldier's life, their erstwhile brothers in arms, the fights, pranks, bets, binges, food… When Fergus got on to the subject of wenching and spun several ribald tales about his own amorous escapades, prior to his marriage, Alistair could only repeat second-hand stories.

Finally, Fergus realised this: "Not much wenching in the Chantry, I imagine?"

"We had half a day in ten on release, so no, not really… And I, well…"

"Andraste's tits!" Exclaimed Fergus, eyeing him and Alistair winced somewhat at the profanity. "Half a day in ten. No wonder Templars are such a grim lot."

By the second day, they seemed to have exhausted most of the subjects of conversation readily available to them and so rode mostly in silence.

On their third day, they were due to reach Highever that evening, Fergus drank too much ale at the inn where they rested for lunch and they had to keep stopping in order for him to relieve himself to the extent that it was getting embarrassing. Alistair decided to pretend that he was suffering likewise so Fergus didn't feel he was alone.

They'd been riding for several hours by then and not much conversation had passed between them but as they shared a tree Fergus suddenly said: "I always wanted her to get married and have children, you know."

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint." Said Alistair lacing himself up.

Fergus sighed, "It's not like that."

"Then _how_ is it?"

"I... You're a good man, it seems..."

"Look," Said Alistair, leaning against another tree while Fergus finished up. "I swear to you that, if I thought that her life would be better if I weren't in a relationship with her... I would give her that opportunity."

"You would leave her?" Fergus asked.

Alistair's face was set his chin jutted somewhat but he nodded.

"Strange bunch you Theirins are..." Fergus mused as if Alistair weren't standing directly in front of him, "There's not one of you that doesn't have a hatful of redeeming features and not one who lacks a glaring defect... Cailan's was vanity, your father's, melancholy... Yours... naïveté... You seem to have no idea how real people work, seem to think you can save the world... Oh, all right then, let's set that last comment to one side."

"Explain." They began to make their way back to the horses.

"Rosy would hate for you to leave her. She would go to pieces… Again. And my problem with Rosy and you is..." Fergus paused while he remounted. "Look at it like this... when that woman dressed in a novices robe clutched at my sleeve during your coronation. I had nothing. Less than nothing. No family no relatives, not even anyone to take revenge on: Howe, Loghain, they were both dead..."

"But you took care of that Godfrey…"

"Oh that I did! A few years ago, now. It was quite… Satisfying."

"Still, it must have been difficult" Said Alistair with not a little sympathy.

Fergus laughed. "You have no idea... When I was in the wilds... I spent quite a lot of time fending off those Chasind women, preserving my virtue would you believe. Dreaming of getting back to Highever and my family, and all the time my sweet Oriana and my little boy were dead. Already dead. Together with my parents of course... Absurdly ironic."

They rode for about half a mile and Fergus added: "What I am trying to say to you, Alistair, is that even if you were the Maker's own chosen anointed one, which, by the way, I know you're definitely _not_, I would still resent your relationship with my sister with all my heart... I think it's only fair I should warn you. But I think you don't really understand that. Rosy says… Anyway… and Rosy does not lie about such things but... Well you never really had a family growing up did you? So it's not your fault."

If cantering his horse would have allowed Fergus to shrug, Alistair is sure he would have done so once he had reached that point. Since Fergus appeared very much to have reached his own conclusion and Alistair didn't disagree with it, he thought it best to just grunt in acknowledgement and Fergus seemed to appreciate that.

They were a few miles from his estate when Fergus turned to him and said. "I've been thinking. About your little girl... Why don't you send her to Highever for a few weeks when she's older? Children like the countryside, it's healthy for them and it would be pleasant to hear a child's laughter between Highever's walls again. I could teach her how to fight, like I did Rosy..."

Alistair hesitated and it must have shown in his posture somehow because the other man immediately added. "Ah, I see you already had plans in that direction. Of course you do. But any child can benefit from having more than one trainer... Surely you would agree?"

* * *

When they arrived at Highever the estate's servants greeted them in a friendly manner. There were many enquiries as to Rous's whereabouts and activities.

Over a simple supper of broth and bread, Fergus asked Alistair whether he would prefer to use a guest room or sleep in Rous's room, "Don't worry it has a double bed…" He added.

Alistair said he would prefer Rous's to the guest room and shortly thereafter, it was Fergus himself who showed him there. "I'd all but forgotten how hard horses can be on the body. We need the rest." He remarked sounding tired. "The horses I ordered are due anytime now, from Antiva. I still have contacts there, you know."

"I'll make a note of that." Said Alistair.

"Oh, I fully expect you to… Anyway, this room…" He said opening the door, "It isn't the one where all those things happened. Rosy and I had a good talk very shortly after our reunion and as a result, we decided to close that wing of the house. Too many bad memories, especially for her…" Fergus seemed to suppress a shudder. "Well, anyway, enough of that. Sleep well, Alistair."

Alistair heard Fergus murmur a further muffled good night and found himself standing in the centre of his lover's bedroom.

It was so different from his own.

To start with, the curtain around the bed was not simply functional it was very elaborately decorated with the Cousland reef heavily embroidered in the centre surrounded by fruits, apples, grapes, pears, different kinds of berries, and such. The pillows and sheets behind the curtains were fringed with lace and made of stiff, thick cotton. The coverlet was embroidered to match the curtains. 'Nothing better than being a Cousland', he recalled Cosy saying. The bed smelt crisp and clean, no doubt made up for him fresh today.

On the floor to one side of the bed was an immense white bearskin mat, silky soft between his fingers when he stooped down to touch it. A white bear? He had never heard of such a thing…

Two oval portraits in oils were displayed on one wall, the subjects male and female, painted in a charming, he imagined, Orlesian style; plump rosy cheeks, snub noses and wide lips. Even if this was artifice, which he was almost certain it was; there was a distinct resemblance to both Fergus and Cosy from which he supposed that the portraits were Bryce and Eleanor in their youth.

On the wall opposite there was an ancient bow made of solid black timber Alistair took it down carefully and turned it around his hands. It was quite heavy. He did not dare pull it although he was tempted for fear of cracking it. From the dry feel of the timber it was apparent that time had made it brittle. A family heirloom he imagined.

Arranged around the room were five sideboards or bureaux each completely different from the others and covered with knick-knacks, beads, stones, coins, earrings, figurines… His own statuette and rune collection looked positively modest in comparison, he thought. He picked up a cheap tin locket that seemed out of place and, forcing the catch a little, found himself looking at the wide face of a homely redheaded woman. He wondered who she was, she did not resemble either of the siblings, and the locket seemed slightly distorted and stained, by fire perhaps? He put it back exactly where he had found it.

Alistair found three embroidery frames, one, rectangular in shape, which he guessed she must have been working on most recently, was actually attached to a stand that would allow Cosy to sit while she sowed without having to hold the frame and was, in fact, placed next to a sturdy high-backed chair with a worn seat. Two others, one round the other square, one in wool, the other silk but also unfinished, he found lying on the bureaux. It seemed she liked to work on several things at once, moving when she tired of one, to another.

Thinking he would now have to make an abject confession to Cosy and rather enjoying that idea, Alistair threw open the doors of her wardrobe. There were four or five elegant dresses but they had gathered dust, most of the contents were plain enough, breeches and doublets, some in velvet or silk but most wool, cotton, leather or roughspun; all in plain darkish colours. He concluded that Cosy's preference for male dress was not a novel or new affectation.

He closed the wardrobe door, sat on the bed and began to remove his boots. He could open all the drawers and cupboards and continue his ramble but even the very thought of doing so suddenly seemed exhausting. Fergus was right. Horses were tough on the body. His rear was sore, his thighs, even his ankles and shoulders. His back ached and tomorrow would not be much easier.

No Cosy to distract him or massage away the aches and pains. He wondered what she was doing.

* * *

Rous and Lawler caught up with her escort just outside of Redcliffe. This was not as strange as it seemed as the five-man, largely ceremonial, escort had been sent out on foot two days before while Rous had insisted on riding and therefore Alistair, in his absence, had insisted that Lawler accompany her on horseback. Something like that would usually have annoyed her but she liked Lawler's straightforwardness and didn't object to him as a travel companion.

They were due to spend the night at Redcliffe Castle with the Guerrins and depart early the next morning for Lothering. They arrived late afternoon and were shown to their accommodations and allowed to refresh themselves from the ride. Around evenfall, they were called to sup with the family.

Rous enquired politely after Connor and Isolde waxed lyrical about how well he was doing in his studies and what a powerful mage her son had turned out to be. While she was saying this Rous glanced across the table at Teagan, her favourite Guerrin bar none, and saw him picking irritably at his food. Seated to her left, Lawler was busy burying his face in his plate, either because he was hungry or because he wished to make clear that the concerns of nobles were not his concerns. Rous could hardly blame him.

Apparently, Connor was due to return to Ferelden from Trevinter before the end of the year and Isolde went into some detail as to how she was having his old bedroom redecorated for his use. At that point Teagan said in a patient voice, "But Isolde, Chief Enchanter Irving told us that they might allow the lad to spend a few days here, but no more… Especially since the Tower is local to us."

Isolde scowled and instead of replying to Teagan turned to her husband, "Eamon you said you would write to the Chief Enchanter, have you done that yet?"

In reply, Eamon waffled somewhat ineptly, about how busy he was and how it had slipped his mind.

Isolde, eyes blazing with a mother's fervour, then turned to Rous, "Rosaura, you _must_ mention this to Alistair… Connor is his nephew, after all, and that should be acknowledged."

Rous looked down at her onion soup and mumbled a non-committal reply. She could fairly well imagine what Alistair's response would be to any request that he should sue the Chief Enchanter for special treatment for his nephew, particularly since she was very aware that he could hardly bear to even be so much as in the same room as Lady Guerrin.

Isolde still looked angry so she added, "Knight Commander Gregoir will be at the re-consecration ceremony tomorrow perhaps you could approach him then, Lady Guerrin." As these words left her mouth she recalled how a few weeks' ago Alistair had insisted she invite the Knight Commander. At the time this had struck her as rather strange. He had left everything else to do with the ceremony completely up to her. She hadn't thought to question him on the point, now it nagged at her.

Isolde nodded gravely. "Yes, Rosaura, I will do that."

Rous suddenly felt sorry for Gregoir.

Surprisingly Eamon then intervened and suggested that Isolde might like to tell Rous about their recent visit to Orlais. It was obvious that if there was something Isolde loved almost as much as Connor it was her home country and for the next half an hour she launched into a long discourse on the beauty of Orlais, the excellence and grace of its natives and the charm of its latest fads and fashions.

Teagan showed her to her room after Rous had pleaded her tiredness from the journey to excuse herself from viewing the many gowns and jewels Isolde had apparently purchased on her trip. "I am glad Alistair found you Lady Cousland." He said mildly as they walked down a winding corridor.

"It's Rous, Teagan." She corrected him.

"Rous. The last time I had any meaningful contact with him was on his wedding day and he was drinking some foul brew to render himself unconscious before his bedding… I felt sorry for him. Even sorrier when I heard the Hero had left him. As for Anora— even _I_ am forced at this stage to admit that she has many good qualities as a sovereign but an overabundance of affection is not one of them."

"He still loves Neriya, you know. Well part of him does, at least." Rous acknowledged as Teagan opened the chamber door for her.

Teagan blinked, "I only met her briefly but Circle Mage Neriya Surana was a powerful woman. Of the kind that makes a mark." He looked Rous directly in the eyes as he said this, "I sure she returned his feelings, too. They worked well together during the Blight from what I could see… But peacetime brings its own stresses to bear, as no doubt you and your brother know…"

"I do, Teagan, yes, I do."

"My darling sister-in-law's endless prattle being the case in point…" the Bann of Rainesfere added with a mischievous glint in his pale blue eyes.

Rous laughed.

"It's good to be in a position to laugh at such things, is it not?" Asked Teagan.

"Indeed it is."

"Be sure to give Alistair my sincere regards when you next see him… Sweet dreams, Rous."

"You too, Teagan."

* * *

Master Blacksmith Barlow of Highever had a chest as broad and deep as a barrel covered in whorls of sooty hair that peeked over the top of his worn leather apron.

"Milord Cousland," He snarled, "and you…" He paused for a moment taking Alistair in, his eyebrows lowered, "Whoever _you_ may be… My 'prentice will fit you in the next room. Me, I have proper work to do."

"Good day to you, Master Barlow." Replied Fergus airily.

"Yeah, as you say…" growled the blacksmith turning to beat out a piece of steel he had just drawn from the fire.

The next room was nothing but a dusty storeroom fully of stacks of armour and other things that would clutter the main room of the smithy. It was a fine day and a door was open into a small fenced-in enclosure with a trough in the middle where it was obvious animals used to be kept or perhaps visitors used to tie up their horses. The apprentice in question turned out to be female, a skinny young dour thing with an expression that said that she had seen it all before on her longish face.

She introduced herself as Brat "Not my real name," she added. "Remove your doublets."

They did, standing in just their shirts above the belt and Bratt frowned especially at Alistair. She went to the door. "We need an extra large breastplate for the blond one." She called out.

Alistair grinned at Fergus raising his eyebrows. Fergus turned away pretending not to notice. Bratt handed him one of the breastplates leaning against the wall and they proceeded to buckle it on. "Definite medium." Said Brat.

A child barely a toddler with a mass of sticky hair came in dragging a large breastplate that made a scraping sound against the cobbled floor. Alistair picked it up and tousled the infant's locks before starting to put it on. Bratt glanced across at him, left him to it and continued assisting Fergus.

About half an hour later they'd both been fitted, they were wearing the breastplates, one set of leg armour and one set of arm armour each. Brat had said something about going to fetch the cummerbunds and left the room.

"Cummerbunds?" asked Fergus.

"A fetching shade of purple, if you will, with yellow detail and a very becoming fringe." clarified Alistair. "Like the off duty robes."

"Know-it-all. Extra large." scoffed Fergus. He picked up a rusty pair of tongs from a pile of old tools in the corner of the room and began to prod Alistair's breastplate with it, "Know-it-all!"

"Hey!" said Alistair, "I can't help my size!" Perusing the same pile himself, he came upon something that at first he thought was a rusty blade but that when he took it in hand he saw was actually a large chisel. He did a mental shrug and shouted "At you!" to Fergus.

"As you will, bastard," Fergus responded spiritedly and the iron of tongs blocked the chisel's thrust with a deep oxidized clank. "For Highever!" he shouted, launching a counterattack.

"For cheese!" responded Alistair.

Fergus stopped mid thrust. "For cheese? What kind of battle cry is that?"

"Oh, in the Chantry they attempted to get us all to adopt our own devout battle cry. 'For Andraste's virtue!' And the like. I always refused; mine was, 'For cheese!'"

"No wonder they never let you join the order…," muttered Fergus darkly resuming the attack.

Alistair tried to find a way through his guard but Fergus parried and then forcefully drove the chisel down. "This is ridiculous…" Fergus exclaimed, "These are toys…" and so saying he dropped the tongs instead throwing a punch aimed at Alistair's jaw.

"Just because you're her brother…" Said Alistair dodging, and skipping back on the balls of his feet, fists raised, "Think I can't hit back? Think I won't?" His punch grazed Fergus' shoulder were the breastplate had come slightly loose.

At this point Brat returned , she sighed when she saw what they were doing and set the sashes to one side, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her budding breasts resigning herself to waiting them out.

"Do your worst, Theirin…" sneered Fergus.

"Think I won't, Cousland?" Alistair repeated.

Fergus cuffed him across the left ear and for a very brief moment, he heard the chime of tiny silvery bells.

"Right, that's it…" He clonked Fergus under the chin. With a 'Uuuuf' and then an 'ulp!' Fergus staggered backwards and lost his balance. Alistair grabbed him by the neck of the back breastplate and dragged him out into the little yard with the intention of dunking him in the trough there but Fergus began to struggle digging his heels into the dusty ground and reaching back attempting to loosen Alistair's grip.

As Alistair pulled him through the narrow doorway, Fergus managed to hook one of his feet on the lintel. Alistair was about to turn around to improve his grasp when he heard a voice from apparently calling out to him, "Oy you!" A large man was leaning on the fence; there was something familiar about him. It took Alistair a few seconds to recognise Dean.

He dropped Fergus and walked over to Dean "Smarty pants…" Said Dean. Suddenly a humongous grin split his face from side to side. Alistair was just thinking what that could possibly mean when something _or someone_ grabbed his leg from behind.


	73. Chapter 73

**Chapter 73**

Dragon 9:35 Parvulis/Kingsway Redcliffe/North of Lake Calenhad

Rous was not very familiar with the Redcliffe area but on that fine sunny morning, she found its hilliness exhilarating. She swept down on Hope from the castle across the narrow bridge and then past the Templars hall on the crest of a steep tor above the village. Several of the Templars were already out drilling and practising on the glade before hall the some in armour most not. She was feeling so excited that as she galloped past them she shouted out "Ahhhhhh Templaaaars!" at the top of her voice.

Most of them stopped in their tracks at being hailed so informally by a redhead on horse back but Knight Commander Harrith who was also there recognised her smiled cheerily and waved at her and Lawler, as they swept past. The narrow hillside path down to the village was rather steep so she slowed somewhat. She was happy to see Lawler follow suit. At the bottom, they trotted across the small dusty square towards the steps of the Chantry where they dismounted and Rous left Lawler with the horses as she knocked on the large doors to the temple. The door was shortly opened and some five minutes later Rous emerged with the tiny blonde woman with a page boy's hair cut dressed in the robe of a Chantry Mother and a light travel cloak.

"No," said the small blonde woman when she saw the horses, "no, no, no, no, noooo…"

Rous put her hands on her hips and said, "You have a choice Charbelle, Lawler or me. I'm sure Lawler will be very happy to take you won't you, Lawler?"

Lawler grinned at both the women and then bowed to Charbelle who was half a head shorter than he, "I would be more than happy, I would be honoured, Revered Mother."

"There, you see, Charbelle, you would be honouring him."

Charbelle turned to Rous put her arm around her neck and rather desperately whispered something into her ear. "No, sorry, you're not getting away with it. You come with me then, you can ride sidesaddle you'll be safe. Lawler, if you will…"

Rous climbed up onto Hope and Lawler approached Charbelle, slipping his arms around her waist and then hoisted her up behind Rous. "You're very light Mother." He said as he did this and Charbelle blushed.

"Hold tight, Charbelle," Rous said. "Off we go." And she set off at a canter so as not to alarm her friend who was gripping her very closely.

"See it's not so bad…" She said after a while.

"It seems so far down…" Said Charbelle clutching Rous a little tighter.

"Strange to think you're a full mother now and yet younger than me." Said Rous in an attempt to distract her friend.

"Only in the Chantry."

"As if that didn't count… Are you happy there?"

"Of course I am. I know you think it strange, but yes. It's a quiet life, at the moment, not like during the Blight. I find it to my taste, lots of time for reading and study… As well as prayer."

Rous grunted.

"Oh I know you disapprove…"

"I don't."

"Yes you do. I can even pick it up in your letters. You're one of those people who believe that unless a woman has a man…"

Rous shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, "You're not a woman, Charbelle, and you're just a girl."

"I was twenty-one last name day, so I'm a woman." She said adamant.

Rous shook her head.

"I know as much about life as you do, thanks to the Blight— And my friend Rous."

"There is some truth in that, I guess." Rous conceded.

"All those racy stories you told me while you were getting better. You even tried to tell me what you did with poor, dear Maron and I had to put my hands over my ears!"

Rous looked behind them quickly to check Lawler hadn't overheard. "Shhhsh…" She said, "I did not… It must have been the fever… Even if I did, was trying to get you to come out of your shell."

"You certainly did, Rous, but I shall give you some allowance for the fever… Shell, what shell? Snails have shells, not I." Charbelle put her chin on Rous's shoulder, "How is Alistair?"

"He's well… Does too much, worries too much…"

"You sound a good match."

"I think we are… While we're on the subject…"

"So," Said Dean, "What's your friend's name again, Smarty Pants?"

"Gus," Said Alistair glancing at Fergus who'd just started heading back towards them from the bar, "And it's Sandy, not Smarty Pants."

"I happen to think Smarty Pants suits him rather well." said Fergus as he distributed the pints.

"Why thank you, _Gus_," Dean Replied, "What I want to know is why the likes of you are bothering with this jolly…"

"Well…" Said Fergus.

"Fun and games is it?"

Alistair cleared his throat.

"'Nuff said." concluded Dean.

"Gus has as much experience as I do…," said Alistair defensively.

"Good to know." said Dean looking at his short split nails "is that why you two were fighting?"

Alistair glanced down at his torn breeches.

"It was… over a woman." said Fergus fingering his bruised chin.

"Not exactly…" Alistair specified.

"So now my sister isn't a woman?" demanded Fergus, "how dare you!"

"You were just jealous, Fer— Gus, I mean…"

Dean pulled a dagger out from one of his belts and with a thud buried it in the wooden tabletop between them, snarling, "Stop it!" After a few seconds silence, while the knife still quivered in the wood, a serving wench began to approach hesitantly, Dean waved her away, "Don't worry luv, just sorting some issues here…"

He bent low over the table and in barely a whisper so both Alistair and Fergus had to lean forward in their turn, hissed, "You want to come rather than leaving it up to me to select my own team, fine… But no arseholery in the field are we clear on that? Sandy?"

"Yes." said Alistair eyeing Fergus.

"Gus?"

"Aye." Replied Fergus with a totally blank expression.

"Well and good, then." there was a pause during which Dean examined them in turn as if he had never set eyes on them before and then took a hearty mouthful of his ale. "Now about this business…" He said wiping the froth from his lips with the back of his hand.

"A unit of Orlesian Templars is coming to retrieve a mage from the Tower to take her to Orlais. We need to intercept them and take the mage from them." Said Alistair.

"Alive?" asked Dean.

It was a good question, thought Alistair, he needed to make it obvious. "Absolutely, that is the whole point."

Dean grunted. "Can we count on the mage to assist us?"

"Not really. No. She knows we're coming but…"

"Do we know anything about these Templars apart from the fact they're Orlesian?"

"No." Replied Fergus.

Dean shook his head his mouth down turned.

"There is this…" said Alistair, producing a small vial sealed with wax from his sleeve and laying it carefully on the table. "As you know, I never completed my training… but I understand _you_ will know how to use this."

After Fonst and Jora had been informed that their request had been approved Alistair had suggested something that might help track Mage Vallet. The free mages had put their heads together and Fonst had finally announced that they may be able to oblige.

Once Fonst and Jora had withdrawn, Alistair had raised an eyebrow at Oswyn. "Currents." Said Oswyn, "My guess is the currents in Lake Calenhad. That's how they're communicating. Sealed vessels, with wax perhaps. Mages, they'll probably have lots of that kind of thing available… I'll put it to the test one day."

Back in Highever Dean picked up the delicate object between his stubby fingers. "A phylactery, eh? Not too shabby." He put it in the purse at his belt. "That should help track 'em."

"We have horses, too." Fergus added. "Do you ride?"

"Usetah."

"Not looking so bad now is it?" Fergus asked jovially.

Dean rolled his eyes "Last I recall, horses didna fight…" He commented wryly.

There was one fire and then there were two. It didn't seem to make sense. They were somewhere north of Lake Calenhad now, in a wooded area, a few miles from the nearest village. The Orlesian party when they left the Tower earlier that morning had gone out of their way to keep away from anything remotely resembling a road.

"Just tells you everything you need to know about them and their mission." Fergus had muttered and even Dean had snorted in agreement.

But now, two fires had been kindled. "Let me scout." Fergus had suggested and both the other men had nodded. Alistair was no scout, Dean probably wasn't either but there was a certain knowledgeable stealthiness to Fergus once they'd set out.

Fergus returned about half an hour later. "Four of them and the mage are around one fire… The fifth, youngish lad, is by himself next to the other."

"What's his mood?"

"Mood?" Fergus echoed.

"The young'un's." Clarified Dean.

"I…" Fergus closed his eyes, "Well, he's hunched up, glaring at the flames, face grim… Serious, I guess." He concluded.

"And the others?"

"They're getting tight, passing a skin around, boisterous…"

"Not good." Said Alistair.

"Not good for the mage…" Dean agreed, "but not bad for us."

"You have a point." Alistair conceded.

There was a moment's silence then Dean said, "I'll go an' speak to 'im."

"The young one?" asked Fergus, "but he's Orlesian… I speak Orlesian so does Alis…, I mean Sandy, but you?"

"And I speak TEMPLAR, an' that's what's needed here," Replied Dean, "You," He said pointing a finger at Fergus, "Scout an' keep an eye on the others, make sure she don't come to harm. Sandy stay here, lad." He touched Alistair's arm.

"But…" Objected Alistair.

Too late, it seemed, Dean was gone.

When he heard a rustling in the bushes, the boy reached for his sword and slowly got to his feet.

"'Allo lad, mind if I cosy up?" Dean said looking in the direction of the fire. Puzzlement and suspicion vied in the young man's eyes, but eventually, with lips pursed, he gave a curt nod. Then he pointed to Dean's sword, Dean drew it very slowly and, for a moment, the young man froze. Dean laid it on the ground with the hilt towards the boy.

They both settled for a while, the lad mostly looking broodily into the fire and occasionally glancing at Dean. He had a very round head, an impression to which flat laying light brown short hair only added, a lumpy nose, deep pockmarks on both cheeks and high cheekbones. He was large but gangly with long limbs, probably hadn't quite stopped growing yet, Dean thought, hadn't filled in either. Tough life.

After about ten minutes, Dean drew out a skin and drank from it. Then he offered it to the lad, who shook his head.

"Well, I knows it ain't as good as the Orlesian stuff… You're Orlesian aren't you?" Said Dean pointing at him.

The lad nodded. "Bit far away from 'ome." Dean remarked and proffered the skin again. This time the young man took it and served himself a sip, scowling and then spitting the beverage out. Dean laughed.

"Fine, so it's no better than piss, ain't it?" Dean gestured towards his groin and the young man laughed too and returned the skin to him with a wry expression.

Dean drank some more and coughed. The young man hit him on the back. "Why thank ya." Said Dean once he'd recovered. "What's your name?"

"Guy." said the young man pronouncing it the Orlesian way.

"Gui, I'm Dean."

"Dean." The lad repeated.

"Gui," said Dean, "You's a Templar ain't ya?" He said indicating the boy's armour that lay in a pile a few yards away.

"Yes." He replied cautiously in Fereldan.

"Me too. Look…" Dean pulled up his right sleeve and flushed the old blue sunburst tattoo on his biceps. The boy looked at Dean's face uncertainly and then run rough fingers over it. "Vinct…" Dean's very scanty Orlesian failed him.

"_Vingt ân__é__es__?_" Asked the young man.

"More…" said Dean, "More."

"_Plus._"

"Yeah, that's it, '_plu'_" Dean repeated. Guy sat back on his knees his hands crossed in front of him and for a while studied Dean very carefully, overall, he looked rather impressed. Dean took that as a cue, "Why ain't you wit the others Gui, your brothers?" He asked gesturing in the direction of the other camp.

Guy shook his head and looked into the fire. "_La jeune fille__… __déshonorant…_" His hands fisted and then opened, he clenched them and opened them slowly several times.

Dean reached over and touched him. "We're here to get her, the _jeyne fill_." He said quietly, Guy glanced at him. "We don't mean to harm her, either… I swear by the Maker and my honour as a Templar. Will you help us?"

"_Aider_?"

"Yeah, _noose ader_…"

The youngest had gone his own way in disgust but unfortunately, the four most experienced and hardened remained.

She was exhausted not only from the walking, they had tried to make haste, indecent haste, she thought, that of the murderer slinking down the alley, and they were all extremely fit men as most Templars were wont to be. But also, because she had been the subject of numerous draining castings on their part even though she had attempted to make it clear to them that she would not offer resistance, they persisted in disbelieving her. She had eventually concluded that it was out of spite; they had been enjoying themselves at her expense.

Until now, she had only poorly understood how much of her vital energy was tied up with her being a mage. She was presently sitting on the ground leaning against the trunk of a tree. Those wretched shackles that they had clamped around her wrists as soon as they had lost sight of the tower were pinning her arms behind her back, yet she felt she was floating a few yards above the ground, light-headed and dizzy. Unreal as if something that were underlying her personality, giving it presence, form and mass had suddenly gone missing and with it, a considerable amount of her stamina.

Alternatively, perhaps it was simply fear that was incapacitating her, she was usually very good at self-analysis and self-questioning but now she was finding it hard to concentrate to fix her mind for any amount of time on one thing, one issue. Of course, things were getting bad, they'd already emptied one skin between the four of them and now another was doing the rounds. She'd put up with the leering and remarks since they had left the Tower to the extent that she'd given up attempting having any meaningful conversation with any of them, except the young one who actually seemed embarrassed by his seniors and was too shy to talk, because they always ended up in the same sordid cul-de-sac.

She put her face against her bent knees in an effort to both block out the view of the increasingly inebriated Templars and to concentrate on something more worthwhile utterly distant from the present.

It was not to be, "Eh, eh, 'Pina or whatever the fuck your name is…" Said the one called Denis the leader, obviously. "Look at us… Don't hide, you fucking mage…" He stood over her and she felt a hand grab her hair and yank her head back so it knocked against the tree trunk. She exhaled slowly. "Look at me… Aren't I pretty enough for you?"

Crispina tried very hard to keep her features composed while taking in Denis' shaggy facial hair, the bristling eyebrows and slug-lipped mouth. For all that, he would not have been entirely unattractive, she thought, if only he'd wash a little more frequently, because he smelled of stale sweat now, overlaid with cheap booze; if his nose weren't smattered with broken veins through too much drinking, lyrium abuse or both, and the whites of his eyes not yellowy and blood-shot and his skin not grey and flaky for the very same reason.

"You fucking mage, Antivan bitch…" His insults were getting more imaginative… She had to suppress a dangerous and indecent urge to giggle at her own unvoiced joke. "Move that arse… Over here!" He said pointing.

He seized her arm and pulled her abruptly to her feet. All her effort went into keeping her face completely blank as he did this, not showing pain, humiliation or fear. He himself moved back a few paces and it was obvious he expected her to stand in front of him, so she did.

He glared down at her, he was about a head and a half taller, "On your knees, whore!" Behind them, the others chuckled.

Slowly, cautiously she complied. Once she was on the ground, he shot her a satisfied smile almost infantile in its glee. "Now bend low, pretty one, show my brothers that nice tight bum of yours and kiss my boots…"

For just a moment she hesitated, Denis gave her a backhanded slap across the ears. She lowered her face towards his scuffed muddy boots. She didn't quite put her lips against the worn leather but made the appropriate mouth movements. Everything was silent for the next minute or so, except for the crackle of the fire, as if the four Templars were holding their collective breath.

For some reason she couldn't determine she suddenly stopped and looked up. Next to Denis' face and just behind it she saw another one. If Denis was hirsute, this one was clean-shaven Denis' hair was dark whereas this ones was pale, short to his long, hazel eyes to his blue. The apparition put a finger to his lips as if admonishing her. Like most mages, she didn't really believe in the Maker's sacred envoys or benign Fade spirits, but for one single beat of her sceptical heart…

Denis shuffled but before he could say or do anything, she lowered her face again and renewed the mock kissing with fresh vigour. Denis giggled.

It was the last conscious sound he was to ever make.

Because following on from it, there was a kind of whooshing noise followed by a throaty stutter and a sickening dull thud that then gave way to a gush of warm liquid. Crispina looked up just in time to see the blond man himself spattered in blood casually step past Denis' now headless body and push it to one side with a twist of his hips so it did not fall on her on its way down.

Another step and he was in front of her like a wall of metal, clad in full Templar armour, she realised, brandishing his freshly bloodied sword.

A precaution that, from what she saw between his legs, was wholly unnecessary because no sooner had the three other Orlesian Templars recovered from the shock of Denis's decapitation than they were set upon by three others in their turn.

"Surrender, surrender" gasped the one called Leon in Fereldan.

The large man in front of her pivoted elegantly on his heels. "Where is the key?" He asked her in Fereldan-accented Orlesian, his eyes were hazel.

"…" Another of the Orlesian Templars, Charles, starting throwing up for a moment Crispina felt the same. Her saviour waited patiently. "Pouch…" She gasped finally.

"Ah-ha." Said the big guy and he turned to the headless body and began tugging at its belt. Crispina felt ill just watching this. "_Ca y est.…_" He said showing it to her.

"I speak Fereldan." Said Crispina, sounding horribly peevish even to her own ears.

"Of course you do." He said amiably. He squatted down behind her and started fiddling with the shackles. "Everything alright over there?" He shouted over her shoulder.

"Yeah," replied an older man.

"There you go," He said releasing her. Crispina gasped when they metal fastenings came loose, as suddenly her wrists were flooded with pain.

Now he was in front of her, and, holding her left hand, was rubbing her wrist with his thumb to restore the circulation. "I read some of your essays, Mage Vallet." He commented. "Name's Sandy by the way…" It was as if they were two normal people who'd just met in the market place or at a country dance or something.

"Did you read the one about violence being the last resort of the incompetent?"

He paused in his rubbing. She watched his eyebrows gather on his forehead. "Not that one, no." He said slowly.

"I can recommend it." She snapped. _Why was she being such a total bitch?_

He sat back on his heels and regarded her. "Am I being chastised?"

She waved her newly freed hands in Denis' general direction. "You… Killed him."

Sandy scratched the back of his head, looked at the corpse and then at her. "Yep, I did. Would you have suggested another approach?"

She ignored the sarcasm. "You could have asked him to yield…"

"Then you might be the one lying there." He pointed out quite reasonably.

She took a deep breath.

"He was making you kiss his boots." Sandy added.

"But he wasn't…"

"He wasn't what?" He asked keeping his voice gentle. "Look there, your robe, the seam on your left shoulder…" She turned her head to look. He touched it, touched her skin through the rent making her jump. "It's been torn…"

"I…"

"And that mark on your neck." He touched that. "How did _that_ get there?" He looked away for a moment and then back at her. "Mage Vallet, are you all right?"

She drew a deep breath, "One of them… Caught me alone… That's all…," she mumbled.

He gazed towards the remaining three Templars who by this time had been securely bound. "Which one?" He asked. There was suddenly a feral gleam in his eyes.

"Sandy." She touched his arm.

"Hmmmm…" He replied turning back to her.

"Nothing more happened. It didn't go further than that." Crispina said adamantly.

"Are you sure now?" He asked.

Crispina looked him straight in his hazel eyes. "Certain." She said.

"Well, no more killing I guess then," He said. "After all I don't want to classed as being _doubly_ incompetent now do I?" He got up with a bit of effort it seemed, using his sword for support.

"Anyway…" He said by way of farewell and ambled over to the other side of the fire. She saw him speaking to a dark haired man with a beard, also in full Templar armour. It was clear that they were speaking about her through the glances they were casting in her direction. After a few moments, the other man came towards her.

"_Buenas noches, sra Vallet._" He said in Fereldan accented Antivan.

The surprise must have shown on Crispina's face, who were these men? Within the Tower, if all the Fereldan mages agreed on something, even those who loved their nation, it was that Ferelden was an especially ignorant and backwards country.

"_Mi difunta esposa era antive__ň__a…_" He explained rather bashfully.

_More mystery: An Antivan wife?_ She nodded in an attempt to recognise his grief. He had kind eyes. "Grateful if you could help me to my feet."

"Of course." He said.

"What's your name?"

"Gus," He said, "My name is Gus."

Sandy took third watch. At first, he wandered around the small encampment. He passed her by several times; he seemed to be checking that she was asleep. Between her eyelashes, she peeked up at a rather stern beautiful face illuminated by the torch he held. Eventually having collected some wood he went over to re-kindle the fire.

Crispina hunkered down opposite him. He had removed most of his armour save for the breastplate and the gaudy Templar cummerbund had become a convenient scarf, but he seemed to be shivering as he held his hands out towards the flames. He didn't seem to be surprised she was there.

"I am sorry if I sounded ungrateful earlier."

"You were, quite naturally, a bit worked up." He said.

"But it doesn't excuse…"

He shrugged. "My take on it is that we had a philosophical disagreement…" He said, "Or was it a moral/philosophical disagreement or a philosophical/moral disagreement…? Those things have always confused me…"

"Alright, alright," Crispina replied. "Next thing I know, Sandy, you're going to tell me you are just a simple Templar…"

"I never got to be a Templar." He smiled at the fire.

"But you always wanted to be one, huh?"

"No. Not at all. Honest." He said looking at her. "Back to this disagreement…" He said.

"Uh-huh."

"My position on the matter is that there are lines that as a man you do not cross. One of those lines is behaving towards women like our late friend Denis was…"

Crispina went to say something.

"No, no, no. Let me finish here, then it's your turn…"

"Fine."

"I've killed so many things… Some of them, I couldn't even name… Some I _wouldn't even want_ to name… That troubles me not at all. But I've also killed many obviously sentient beings, elves, dwarves, humans and such… Crowds of them, in actual fact. Some of them trouble me, will always trouble me… I _do_ have a conscience… But what that man was doing, was about to do to you, in my view, puts him beyond the pale. He's definitely towards the very bottom of any list I would lose any sleep over…" He paused. "Your turn."

"He hadn't laid a finger on me. We don't know that he would have." Sandy looked at her incredulously, "That would be an assumption on either of our parts. Even if he did, he could have grown to regret what he did wrong but death denies him that option, it's final, can't be undone…"

"But potentially..."

"Our moral judgment should not ride on potentials, only on facts, evidence. Especially when the penalty is final."

"I wish I could have you as an adviser." He said wistfully, "But not possible… Too dangerous for you and for me… I believe his behaviour indicated he was going to act in a certain way and I intervened to prevent that."

"An indication is just that, not a fact. Your precautionary intervention could have taken another form. _Should have_ taken another form."

"'Precautionary intervention', huh… You know? I'm feeling a bit tired, been a long day…" He looked up at the sky that was just beginning to turn pink at the dawn. "Day or _two_… Can we leave this here, agree to disagree?"

"We can, if you tell me one thing…"

"Which is what?" He fiddled with the cummerbund cum scarf around his neck.

"Why… How did you get to kill so many? I'm intrigued."

He shook his head and smiled to himself. "Oh, we had a little problem here a few years back. Just some local issue, you know? Called a Blight…" He grinned at her. "We're all children of the Blight here in Fereldan now, you see, for good… or for ill."


	74. Chapter 74

**Chapter 74**

Dragon 9:35 Parvulis/Kingsway North of Lake Calenhad/North Road/Redcliffe

At Dean's suggestion, they had hurled the Templars' swords into a nearby pond the previous night. Come the morning he'd added that perhaps the Templars' boots should join the swords as: "Ya can't go far or fast barefoot…"

They'd turned it into a competition after breakfast. Guy won on distance with Sandy not too far behind. Gus won the fanciest throw category, which they didn't even know existed until he announced his victory based on the largest amount of spins described by one of the boots he threw as it swung through the air. Mage Vallet stood under the tree watching the fun, looking as pale as someone with her rich brown skin could and slightly stunned as four full-grown males whooped and tossed footwear until all four pairs had joined the swords in the murky cold depths.

Then it was time to be serious again. Sandy who was wearing a coarsely knit woollen tunic under his breast plate, matching breeches, weathered brown leather calf-length boots, and still had the Templar cummerbund wrapped round his neck, lamented that he had not brought his writing box but instead offered Guy, whose surname was Auban, a pouch of coin.

Guy tried to refuse, making clear that what he had done had been done for honour and out of respect for a woman and a vulnerable person. Sandy and the others pointed out that he would need it if he were to settle in Ferelden, which was deemed the safest course of action for him. Sandy and Dean advised him that if he wished to continue being a Templar he should make a request of Gregoir. And Sandy went further and suggested that should he wish to settle in Denerim he might want to think about becoming a member of the royal guard, he told him he should speak to a certain Oswyn of Dragon's Peak and made sure the youth memorised the name. Guy then departed after lots of hearty pats on the back on foot towards Kinloch Hold.

Once he had left Sandy turned his attention to the remaining Orlesians.

Squatting down next to them he said quietly: "You guys… don't want to see you in Ferelden ever again."

Leon spat on the ground. "Fuck Ferelden the weather's awful here anyway…"

"Fereldans are all impious infidels and treacherous with it…" added Marc.

"Your women are ugly; the dogs are much prettier…" Said Clovis.

Waiting until their guffaws had subsided, Sandy, replied, "You guys are breaking my heart… But I'll only warn you this once. Next time it's _your_ heads. We'll see to that, won't we?" He said glancing at Gus and Dean who nodded.

"Arsewipes." Added Dean.

"Motherfucking Heretics." Leon shot back in Fereldan. Dean clenched his fists.

"Insofar as we can, shall all attempt to be civilised about this?" Sandy said. Then he got up and ambled over to where they'd tied the horses, extracting something from Dusk's saddlebags. He came back.

"I'd like you to ensure this gets to Divine Justinia."

Leon spat again. "Like fuck."

"It's from the king of Ferelden." Said Sandy brandishing it, "But I see you're not too impressed."

"The King of scurvy, rabid dogs you mean," Said Leon, catching sight of the two mabaris on the grey wax seal, "King of this stinking dung pile. I'm surprised the bastard can write…"

"Oh he can write," Sandy assured them, "Believe you me, he can even muster a few words of Orlesian when put under pressure to do so. But anyway, this letter exonerates you from responsibility for what happened yesterday… If it doesn't get to the Divine within say… Twelve weeks, His Majesty will dispatch another to her by formal diplomatic courier, the contents of which will be somewhat different and will include a complaint that his first letter never reached her, mentioning you all by name…"

"And why would the King of Ferelden take such an overweening interest in the well-being of a mage… An Antivan mage on top of everything else." Said Leon glancing sideways at Crispina who seemed to be keeping her eyes resolutely on the ground throughout the conversation.

"The same question could be asked of the Divine… But to answer briefly, I believe the King of Ferelden has a certain weakness for mages. And sympathy for their plight." Sandy in his turn glanced over towards Mage Vallet. She'd been rather quiet this morning he thought.

"That figures, blasphemous bastard dog that he is…"

Sandy sighed and got up. "I shan't bother to explain in detail… But while the Divine before this one, and, really, I don't think this one is any better, was sitting safe and happy on her arse up in Val Royeaux, a mage from the tower, a _female elven_ mage at that, was helping a not quite Templar, now King, fight a Blight on the front line here in Ferelden." The end of the cummerbund had slipped and he tossed it nonchalantly back over his shoulder. "As far as I'm concerned Ferelden owes mages and Elves a particular debt. Call it gratitude, admiration, loyalty, _honour_… I dunno, not sure you people understand any of those things from what I saw of your behaviour yesterday."

Sandy bent down and tucked the sealed letter inside the quarrelsome Templar's surcoat. "Here you are, M Leon _Rique_, get that to the Divine and give her the King Alistair's fond regards. _Bon voyage _and all that, good luck dodging the wolves, they're kind of hungry this time of year, they can sense winter in the air…" He turned his back and took several steps away. "Ah, I forgot. Here's a very blunt dagger," He dropped it some ten feet away from the bound Templars, "But hopefully it might still assist you in cutting your bindings."

"So you _did_ write that letter." Gus whispered to Sandy once they were outside the Templars' hearing distance.

"I did, yes." Sandy replied smiling at him briefly showing lots of teeth.

"Is it prissy?"

"Maker help me, it's _extra_ prissy I was in a particularly petulant mood the evening I put quill to parchment."

Gus grinned happily, "That's my touchy boy…" he said and slapped him on the back.

They then paired up: Sandy would take Dean north, to Redcliffe with him and Mage Vallet, who had been offered and accepted some woollen garb similar to Sandy's in place of her robe, although she had to roll up the sleeves and legs for it to fit her, would go east with Gus to Highever where she would pose as a distant cousin of his late wife until passage on a ship could be arranged for her.

"Give my love to Rosy." Gus said.

"I will." Sandy replied. "Mage…"

"Sandy." Crispina lowered her eyes for the briefest moment as Gus wheeled his horse around.

"Keep well." He wished her, "Keep writing."

"Be wise." She said in turn.

"Wise? Wise that sounds so _old_, Mage…" He complained.

"Someone like _you_ needs wisdom, young or old…"

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" Sandy asked.

But Gus was already heading on his way, from behind him Mage Vallet turned and raised a hand vaguely in Sandy's direction.

"Well… So much for that…" Said Alistair raising a mute hand in turn.

"Can't win them all, Your Majesty." Quipped Dean laughing.

"Never even got to have so much as a half decent conversation…"

"At least she's all right."

"True enough." He started paying attention to Dusk, "Redcliffe it is then…" They set out at a good canter.

"Gus's sister…" Said Dean after a while.

"Yeeeeees…"

Dean shifted in the saddle behind him, "What colour's her hair?"

"Red."

"Nice, very nice… What's she like?"

In thinking about Cosy and thinking about her hair, Alistair could not stop himself thinking about her eyes, her mouth, her hands… Before he knew it, he was imagining her hands over him. _Not the most comfortable way to ride a horse, Alistair._ "Wonderful. Best thing that ever happened to me…" Such stilted words. His voice sounded choked even to himself.

Dean chuckled with gusto leaving Alistair in no doubt at all that the older man understood his position perfectly.

Alistair drew breath to clear his head a little. "What do you want in exchange for your help?"

"Just that you continue to look after Helena."

Now Alistair was in another fix because he couldn't recall setting eyes on Dean's daughter for a couple of months. He grunted non-committally and resolved to check up on her in person on a regular basis when he got back to Denerim.

"She writes to me every six weeks or so." Dean said.

"Really? But I thought…"

"I can't read." Dean belonged to an older generation of Templars whose education was greatly neglected. "But a friend of mine can, so he tells me what's in the letters. She'd doing really well, apparently."

Alistair _was_ aware of that. She was acting as a healer for all the members of the royal household and he had heard many satisfied murmurs; even from Anora one of whose ladies in waiting had recently visited her for an undisclosed female ailment. "But still…" He added.

"Sends me money, too." His voice was full of pride. "And once even a bottle of wine."

Helena was paid a stipend and also allowed to keep what gifts her patients wished to press on her. Helena was no drinker that much he knew. "Look," He said, "You kept us two under control, you used your initiative more than once, I would like to do something for you…"

"A horse would be nice…" Said Dean patting Dusk's rump. "One that will last me, a young 'un but not quite as impetuous as this one 'ere. So these old legs don't get so sore no more."

"Done." Replied Alistair relieved. "But even though your legs might not get so sore…"

"What's between them will!" Quipped Dean. It was an old saying, apparently, that Fergus had told him on their ride. "Doesn't matter…" Dean added, "Those parts ain't so active now as they once were…"

* * *

"Sandy…" Said Crispina.

"Yes… What of him?" Asked Fergus.

"Rather prideful, is he not?"

"Somewhat, Mage Vallet, somewhat." Fergus replied cautiously keeping his eyes well ahead.

"What's his story?"

"He… Err… Ah… Was rather active in the campaign against the Blight."

"Yes, he told me as much…" Mused Crispina. "Does he know King Alistair?"

"Why would you ask that?"

From behind Gus Mage Vallet smiled to herself and the prickliness in Gus's inflection. "Oh, I don't know… He carried a letter from him… He seemed to be very in tune with the King's thoughts and opinions…"

"Well, yes… I guess… He might know him _fairly_ well…" he conceded.

"But _how_ well?"

"How would I know Mage? I'm just, ehem… A soldier who was married to an Antivan."

"Who also speaks and understands Orlesian…" Gus tensed somewhat. "Oh don't deny it, I saw you cocking your head when Sandy was talking to those wretched Templars. The older guy, Dean was certainly not getting as much as you were, Gus."

"Well, my parents…"

"Were Orlesian?"

"No, no. Maker forbid, no. But they had Orlesian friends."

"Oh I see."

"Highever being a port…"

"Of course. Makes sense." Crispina decided to change tack. "This place you're taking me to in Highever, how many bedchambers does it have?"

"Why would you…? Enough it has enough." Fergus felt caught off guard.

"Enough you say? Curious."

"How so?" He murmured in reply.

"Not one or two, but _enough_? You couldn't count them, you don't know how many?"

"I… May not be entirely familiar with the place… Not with Highever, I mean but the place where we'll be secreting you…"

"Highever never struck me as being a particularly large… _village_, with many particularly large abodes."

Fergus pursed his lips and pulled at the horse's bridle. After a few seconds, they came to a halt and the gelding started grazing. Then he turned towards her looking at her over his right shoulder. "Mage Vallet, why do I get the impression that you are toying with me?"

"Perhaps because you _gentlemen_ appear to be toying with _me_?"

Fergus sucked in some air, "If it helps any, Mage Vallet, I am Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever. You will be concealed in my private residence while we arrange your passage to… Wherever you the whim takes you, as we have agreed. I have also been requested to arrange a meeting with Erno Fonst and some of his group before you leave, should you wish it. And before you ask, 'Sandy', was… is… Alistair Theirin. The King of Ferelden."

"Oh." Now that all her suspicions had been confirmed, Crispina felt a little dizzy once again especially since she had been so irascible with them both. She looked away.

"Well?" Said Fergus after a few moments, sounding somewhat annoyed.

Crispina collected herself, "Is Ferelden so small and disorganised that the monarch lacks a standing army and has to do such a thing himself?"

"No. We wanted to keep it confidential, obviously, this rescue of yours, but also we did it for…" He shrugged weakly, "Fun and games."

"Fun and games." Echoed Crispina. She could hardly believe her ears. She recalled earlier in the day, the boot throwing, and the laughter.

"We're both fighters by training and inclination. We like to keep our hands in… It is the one thing we have in common… That and my sister Rosy…"

"What has your sister got to do with this?"

"She's his…" For a brief moment Fergus seemed to be fishing for the right term, "Mistress." He concluded.

* * *

Alistair arrived at Redcliffe castle when evening was well advanced after having dropped off Dean at a hamlet on its outskirts. One of the guards on duty offered to take Dusk and accommodate him the old stables. He walked up the staircase to the main halls, his back aching and feeling every step in his stiff legs.

When he got to the top, the large doors opened and Bann Teagan and Lawler stood bathed in torchlight. He could see no sign of Cosy.

"Alistair…" Said Teagan and then appeared momentarily lost for words. "You must know that she is expected to recover well…"

Both Teagan and Lawler looked unaccustomedly drawn.

"Tell me what happened." He said quietly.

The fruit, bread and wine lay in front of him untouched. He had insisted on seeing her but the healer advised him she was sleeping and that it would not be right to disturb her. Nevertheless, he had opened the door to her darkened chamber and listened for a few minutes to Cosy's steady breathing before deciding to heed the healer's advice.

"Wynne performed some early healing." Teagan explained.

"That's good." He said nodding. Alistair felt very numb, none of this seemed real.

"I… It was mainly my fault." Lawler blurted.

"'Twas not." Said Teagan putting a hand on his arm.

"Just tell it straight and be done with it." Said Alistair, "I'm too tired for messing around."

"The day actually started really well…" Even Alistair couldn't prevent himself from smiling when Lawler described Rous cheering the Templars and picking up Charbelle. "We got to Lothering early so the three of us went to that Inn…"

"The King's Head." Interjected Alistair.

"To break our fasts, yes. Great meal. The lady insisted on paying." He blushed, "And then, well, around mid-morning the ceremony itself began. It was all right, I suppose, I've never been particularly pious. But Lady Cousland seemed to enjoy it well enough… I was sitting next to her; she seemed very involved most of the time. Even shed some tears…"

"As well as the re-consecration itself there were several readings from the Chant." Teagan added, "They alternated between Revered Mothers and Templars, even a mage at one point… But Lawler is correct, it was very long. I was seated next to Isolde and after an hour or so she started to fret and mutter, eventually Eamon had to take her outside…"

"So when did whatever happened, happen?" Alistair enquired.

"At the end." Said Lawler.

Teagan nodded.

"Lady Cousland insisted that Gregoir and the Templars attending should leave the Chantry first because the chapel would now be dedicated to them. The Revered mothers who had officiated, five or six of them including Charbelle, lined up to offer all attendees their blessings and good wishes as they filed out. We followed and then the rest of the congregation were to follow us. And then… Just as we had walked past her, one of the Mothers pulled a dagger from her robes—"

"Wait," Said Alistair, "_One of the Mothers?_"

Teagan and Lawler both nodded.

"Fuck."

"Yep. Mid twenties red hair. I was arm in arm with Lady C and out of the corner of my eye caught a sudden movement behind us. Lady C gasped. Fortunately that first thrust missed but it was close…"

"Please." Said Alistair covering her eyes.

"It missed Alistair," Lawler reassured him, "It missed."

Teagan reached over and laid a hand on Alistair's arm.

"Lady C whirled around and reached back towards her hair with her right hand…"

"For her ironbark blade."

"Didn't know." Said Lawler shaking his head.

"Bregeth." Said Alistair.

"I see. Well unfortunately I was slower to react than Lady C, I… Well, the whole thing caught me by surprise it was what I least expected, a Chantry, a Revered Mother, I…"

"So Cosy… I mean Rous was fumbling for her knife while attempting to ward off the Mother's attack? What exactly are her injuries?"

"Two deep cuts to her left forearm, some cuts to her left hand and a superficial cut to her right thigh according to the healer." Said Teagan.

"Fuck." Said Alistair again. "And what of this worthless Mother?"

"I cornered her but… I hesitated… I know, that sounds so bad but she was a MOTHER, Alistair, a Revered of the Chantry and a young woman to boot. I…"

Alistair sighed, recalling his own confrontation with Habren. "I know. It's a completely different kettle of fish when your assailant is not a male or an abomination of some kind… Far be it from me to blame you, Lawler, you did what you could…"

"The important thing, Alistair, is that Lawler got her away from Rous— No Lawler, don't bloody object, you did… I saw it, I was there…" Said Teagan.

"Then Gregoir intervened." Said Lawler

"Gregoir…"

"Yes, Alistair, Gregoir who was outside came back to see what the fuss was about and then waded straight in, hit her square on the jaw. Knocked her clean out. She's in one of our cells down below as we speak…" Teagan added.

"She's not right." Said Lawler, "Keeps going on about 'Anora' or something…"

"Not 'Anora'" Teagan corrected him, "More like 'aona'"

"'Aonar'?" Asked Alistair.

"Could be," Teagan replied, "'Aonar', sounds about it… What is that?"

Alistair licked his lips, suddenly they felt very dry. "'Aonar' is a special… Prison for mages. By all accounts extremely unpleasant… I heard about it when I was in training. I'm not sure whether it actually exists or it's just some kind of myth to keep would-be recalcitrant mages in line… First I've heard of a Revered Mother being sent there…" His brow creased as he said this, there was a stray thought, just on the edge of his recollection. He brushed it aside,"Does this wretched woman happen to have a name?"

"Lily." Teagan said glancing at Lawler, "She told us her name was Lily."

Tempted though he was he did not go to pay Lily a visit that night. The name seemed somehow familiar but he was too tired to make the effort to dredge it up. He had more important things to do. He'd washed quickly and then he entered the chamber in clean smallclothes and got into the bed as quietly as he could. Cosy was still snoring gently and seemed deeply asleep.

He didn't know how long after it was but at one point she stirred, turned towards him and murmured, "Ali… Thank the Maker…" he wasn't convinced she was fully awake, nevertheless he took her in his arms pulling her very tightly against him, noting that she was warm to the point of feverish.

* * *

The next thing he knew someone was kicking his shins. He woke up "Ali, my Ali" She said ruffling his hair with her right hand. "I thought it was a dream." From the light coming past the curtains it was past dawn.

"No dream." He replied, "What did you do to yourself Cosy? Eh?"

"I…"

Alistair sat up and pulled the covers down from her. She wore a light nightdress and was clasping her left arm against her breast. From hand to elbow it was swathed in bandages. "It hurts…" She said unhappily wiggling her fingers and biting her lip.

"'Course it does." He replied. "You need some breakfast… So do I, actually." He said sitting up.

"I must look such a mess…"

As she lay against the pillow her hair looked stringy and she was flushed and careworn, but he didn't mind at all. Not one bit. The important thing was that Cosy was alive, if not quite well. The rest could be dealt with by means of lots of rest, feeding, some healing and a dunk in a bath tub. He stroked her face, "All that will be fixed. You'll be on your feet in no time." He said.

She started to cry, tears leaking from the corners of her green eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm sorry…"

"Whatever for?" He asked brushing away the tears and kissing her quickly on her lips, they were cracked he noticed. Her breath was warm and sweet.

"I'm more scarring than woman…" She said.

"You say such dross sometimes…"

She thrashed feebly. "Help me sit up." He put a hand behind her waist and pulled her up. Then he piled the pillows up behind her. She sank against them with a quiet sigh.

"There you go." He said

"You know what happened?" She asked.

"Yes. Teagan and Lawler explained it." He said sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.

"Good. Don't let them blame themselves. It was completely unexpected." Her voice was very low, and she swallowed, it seemed speaking was an effort.

"So I gathered."

"I— "

"I don't want to interrupt but you need some breakfast, Cosy…"

She nodded weakly in response but added, "Just so you know, Alistair, it could have been much worse." At the time that particular comment puzzled him somewhat.

* * *

It wasn't until early afternoon when Cosy was resting that he was able to visit Lily. He heard her before he saw her. She seemed to be moaning or humming disjointedly she slumped against the wall of the small cell head between her knees. She was still wearing her orange and gold robes, but they were torn and tattered in places and spattered here and there with brown stains. Her hair was red but more carrot-toned than Cosy's.

The guard pointed one finger to his forehead and swivelled it. Alistair nodded for him to go and went over and leaned against the bars… It was in this place several years ago that they had found Jowan locked up, he recalled, perhaps in this very same cell. The smell hadn't improved, musty and stale with a touch of unwashed dog.

And suddenly, he remembered, it all fell into place.

"Lily…" He murmured looking down at her.

She raised her face from between her knees and glanced up at him. Her face was more ravaged than Cosy's that morning. Her cheeks sunken, mouth virtually lipless, skin an unhealthy yellow, her eyes were dark brown but somehow vacant and the left side of her jaw was swollen and blue black. After a moment gazing at him she lowered her face again.

She mumbled something into her robes.

"What was that?" He asked.

Suddenly she threw her head back and howled, "PLEEEEEEEEASE, PLEEEEEEEEEEASE, DON'T SEND ME BACK TO AONAR! PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE…"

He had no choice but to wait for her scream to come to an end, which it did almost as suddenly as it had started and she began to shake and shiver with silent sobs.

"Why would I do that, Lily?"

"Because I… Because I… Because… PLEEEEEEEEASE!"


	75. Chapter 75

**Chapter 75**

Dragon 9:36 Verimensis/Wintermarch Kirkwall

The blade stood unwavering at her throat and she smiled.

He snarled, "You fight with a sword as if you were a mage." The smile brightened. "Your movement may be quick but it is inept. Your defence is too open. Your feints can be read from miles away…"

"But," Neriya prompted. "There has to be a 'but', Cully…"

* * *

_But…_ Two months ago, the local Grey Warden Commander a pig-headed human Orlesian called Stroud had the idea of taking a band of them into the local deep roads for a sortie. What the purpose of that expedition might have been, neither Cullivan nor Neriya had been able to discern and Stroud took no care to explain. Equally, to say that neither Neriya nor Cullivan cared much for Stroud would be a grievous understatement.

At one point, they had ended up on an over crop, a group of Darkspawn down below them.

"Mage…" Stroud had breathed urgently. There was a certain brusqueness of tone to his words that didn't seem to be there when he addressed his fellow humans. When Neriya did not reply straightaway Cullivan together with Stroud had turned back towards her only to find her ostentatiously yawning in the Commander's face.

"Mage!" Stroud chided.

"Human…" Replied Neriya, "What would you have of me?" Her words dripped with contempt.

"It is _Commander_ Stroud…" He hissed blusteringly, colour crowding into his cheeks just above his ridiculous toothbrush moustache.

"Then you can address _me _asBlight Queller or the hero of Ferelden, whichever title you prefer, _Commander_ Stroud…" Neriya whispered back.

Stroud speechless and impotent had waved towards the darkspawn.

"How should I dispose of the charmless creatures, Cully?" Neriya had asked him, ignoring the human, "Ice or poison?"

"What you will…" he mumbled embarrassed, trying to sort out in his mind whether he was annoyed with or proud of her.

"Poison it is then…" Neriya smiled grimly and pulled herself up to her full height and began to recite the words of the cast.

When she crumpled after the effort of the spelling, Stroud had stood locked to the spot leaving it to Cullivan to catch her as he muttered under his breath a strong Dalish cuss word directed at the _Shem_. Once he had steadied her he had an excellent view of what was going on down below. It shocked him.

Blood and other substances he didn't care to think about too closely appeared to be oozing from all the creatures entrapped within the scope of the spell. They were yowling dementedly and tearing at their own faces and stomachs with clawed hands doing apparently as much damage to themselves as the venom was. The smell not only from the roiling fumes of green poison but from the dying darkspawn beggared belief even at that height being, acrid, fetid and sweet all at once…

Overcome, Cullivan pulled his neck cloth over his face and turned to look at Neriya who still had the grim smile playing about her lips.

Later that night when they snuggled up close to sleep, another thing Stroud disapproved of, she whispered to him, "Alistair always used to say that you can't have a fry up for breakfast without breaking eggs…"

_But_ Cullivan's perception of her had changed from that day onwards. He had seen her vulnerable, he had seen her strong, he knew she could be loving and affectionate, but he had never seen her so powerful or dispassionate about how she wielded that power.

* * *

Back in the training hall in the Grey Warden compound Cullivan looked across his blade and into her dark eyes and sighed.

As if the sigh were some sort of signal Neriya's form began to waver, her outline shuddered as it were a reflection in the water or smoke in the air. Her figure turned diaphanous so Cullivan could see the plastered wall pitted by multiple slashes and thrusts through her body.

As the spell gathered force she laid a long white, now partially translucent, hand against the sword's edge, stretched out her fingers and then moved her hand through the blade as if the metal were not there.

Cullivan withdrew the sword from her neck, slid it into the scabbard at his side with a snap, and then turning abruptly on his heels, he stomped away from her. "Winning like that is worse than losing," He complained over his shoulder and not for the first time.

"Cully…" Neriya replied softly realising his pride was hurt. "I am so grateful for your sparring with me. Awkward, obnoxious mage that I am."

Still with his back to her, he flexed his shoulders under the grey padded sleeveless surcoat and relented "Oh, Neriya, at the end of the day… I would rather you sparred with me than someone else…"

Neriya her shape still flickering took a few steps and bent down to reach for her fallen falchion blade. She might as well give him all the disagreeable news at once. "Alistair wrote me."

"What… Again?" Said Cullivan frowning.

"It is only… The third time in six months."

"But it seems that now he has found where you are, he can't stop writing you."

Neriya slipped the falchion into the sheath on her belt. "That is the case…" She acknowledged, "But it is not so much for my sake… As for Niamh's… If you would but read the letters…"

Cullivan held up his hands, spread his fingers. "No. I don't need to, I trust you."

"They always have the same structure… 'Dear Neriya… I hope this letter finds you well, blah, blah, blah' for a couple of sentences, and then, 'Niamh Eleniel…' or 'The child we made together…', this time it was, 'Our sweet little girl…' That is the substance of his letter. Those paragraphs about… his… _our_ child, as he says. Then he gives me some brief news of himself and signs off. They are not love letters, Cully, not by any means. If I were to describe how he addresses me it would be… Crisp and courteous. Formal. I get the distinct impression that he is still very angry with me for leaving him but feels obliged to keep in contact for her sake."

"And what of yours back?" He could not resist the temptation to ask.

"Detached… We exchange news, we… In this last one—" She paused. "He has a mistress, Cully, a human. A noblewoman in fact…"

Cullivan studied her features carefully.

She kept her face very still under his scrutiny. "That is as it should be." She added. "Anyway, this woman… Was attacked recently, in a Chantry by a Mother… Oh, she will recover, apparently. He calls her a 'my staunch Rous'. But imagine it, Cully, they do this to a human. A noblewoman from a prominent Fereldan family. What would they have not done to me? An elf and a mage. I would be ashes or weeds by now. And even him with me, perhaps."

"So you think you made the right decision leaving Ferelden?"

"Yes, I do, looking at it from that angle. We… It was sweet and felt right while it lasted but it was not to be. Not us."

They were making their way downstairs to the bath house, Neriya bringing up the rear. "I miss him sometimes. I think of his chunky human body, of the things he learnt to do to please me and only me, of the little gold curls around his…"

"Enough." Said Cullivan stopping dead on a landing.

Neriya smiled at him flirtatiously as she stepped past him, "He was my first, Cully, and don't they say that you always remember your first?"

"You are such a flat ears, Neriya."

"And you are so square, Cully. Your first was your Dalish wife, wasn't she? The one who bore you three children?"

"And what of it?" asked Cullivan, holding open the changing room door for her.

"Couldn't stand the woman in the end, could you? So much for pairing up within your clan…"

Cullivan sighed and muttered a swift prayer to Mythal humbly requesting domestic harmony in _this_ relationship as he hung up his sword on one of the hooks in the changing room. Neriya was always teasing him, testing the limits of his tolerance. Sometimes he found it annoying, but most days it was bracing.

"… And yesterday…" Neriya was saying.

"Yes?"

"Orsino asked to see me…" Although she was a Grey Warden Stroud had agreed to Knight Commander Meredith's demand that Neriya should reside in the Kirkwall Mages' Circle in the Gallows district rather than at the Grey Warden Hall. "I suppose we're lucky Stroud didn't decide that you should live in the alienage." Neriya had quipped at the time.

"What did the Chief Enchanter want?"

* * *

Neriya found Orsino supportive but distant. Whereas back in the Ferelden circle First Enchanter Irving had worked very hard at being seen as everybody's best friend or favourite uncle, Orsino was not the outgoing type. It was rumoured that he had had a harsh childhood and was mistreated but whatever the reason he was introverted and reserved. He had a reputation as a good thinker, a hard worker and a tough negotiator. An elf more given to standing by principles than compromise who had an extremely uneasy relationship with Meredith the Templar Commander who was, in her way, equally inflexible.

He was sitting behind his desk in his private study in profile with his long bony fingers steepled beneath his rather pointed chin, his peculiar ebony staff behind him propped up against the chair. Physically, Orsino was all angles. He gestured for her to take the chair opposite him. After a few routine questions and answers he cleared his throat. "The King of Ferelden…"

"Yes." Neriya did not dislike Orsino but since he had summoned her, she felt it reasonable that he should do the running.

"This Alistair Theirin." The Chief Enchanter added apparently studying the desk in front of him as if it were a rare and precious manuscript.

"Yes?"

"Uhum… Do you still keep in contact with him?"

"Why…?"

"I suppose you have a right to know, Neriya Surana." Orsino interrupted. "There has been certain… Information circulating about… Let us say… His inclinations…"

"'Inclinations', Chief Enchanter?"

"Political inclinations, I should specify, Mage Surana… His attitude towards the Chantry and the Circles etc."

"Chief Enchanter…?"

"Yes, Mage Surana?"

"Could you please…?"

"—Come out with it upfront, were you going to say?"

"Yes, precisely."

"Very well. Rumour has it, Mage Surana, that His Majesty Alistair Theirin has recently had a… _Falling out_ with Divine Justinia V over an Antivan mage who was temporarily resident in the Ferelden Circle. The Divine in her wisdom sent some Orlesian Templars to extract the mage from Kinloch Hold, is it?" Neriya nodded, "Please forgive me Mage Surana, I have never had the pleasure of visiting Ferelden myself…" Orsino sniffed, "In any event the Orlesian Templars took the mage into their power only to have her… Removed subsequently from their custody, let us say, by another group of Templars purportedly working for His Majesty. His Majesty then wrote a letter to the Divine chiding her for her conduct. I understand there has been a polite but furious exchange of letters between Val Royeaux and Denerim ever since…"

Neriya smiled to herself. She could well imagine a_ polite but furious_ Alistair, teeth gritted, fingers white with tension, digging the tip of his quill into the parchment as he wrote. The Chief Enchanter must have seen the smile and tilted his head to one side. "Does this amuse you, Mage Surana?"

"I was just thinking how typical such behaviour was of the man I knew…"

"Then _I_ think you have just answered my question."

"I am content to have shed some light on this Chief—"

"Please call me Orsino, from now onwards, Mage Surana. Perhaps one day you could introduce me to Alistair Theirin?"

"Who knows?" If Orsino had hoped that his previous words would be taken as a dismissal, that hope was in vain. Neriya remained seated. "But… May I ask what has stirred your interest about this affair?"

The Chief Enchanter reached back and laid a hand on his tri snake-headed staff as if to check it were still there.

"One of the arguments being put forward on behalf of King Alistair is that even though he recognises the Chantry's dominion over Chantry property, such as the lands on which Chantrys are built, the Tower of Mages or the Gallows here in Kirkwall and so forth, such authority does not extend to the surrounding land. Once the mage had left the environs of the Tower, so they reason, she fell under the legitimate protection of the Ferelden Crown…"

"Even though this person was a mage and an Antivan, you mean?"

"That appears to be the gist of their argument, yes." The Chief Enchanter continued. "Outside of Trevinter, within the sphere of power wielded by the White Divine we mages have no status, no independence and no safeguard… Until now. This quarrel … Could have far-reaching consequences for all of us mages, Neriya. Perhaps we are no longer entirely alone."

"What of the 'Mages' Collectives'?" She asked.

Orsino paused, "What of them?"

"Do they not defend our interests? When I left Ferelden unbeknownst to me they paid for an escort to keep me safe…"

The Chief Enchanter shrugged, "They only have limited local powers at most, they are not a unified force, much less one comparable in strength to the Chantry or a kingdom, even a duchy…"

She felt bound to remind him. "Even though I partake daily of your kind hospitality and the training you have provided me with is unmatched, at the end of the day I am first and foremost a Grey Warden, Orsino."

For the first time in the course of their conversation he turned his gaze on her, his small black eyes boring into her face. "And yet even here, since you are also a mage, the Chantry presumes to tell your order what to do with you and your order allows it."

"That's certainly true."

Orsino appeared to hesitate for a moment. "And you, as am I, as is your… Partner, are… an elf…"

"As apparently was Alistair's mother…" Although most of Ferelden was unaware of it, outside her country of origin and among mages Neriya had discovered that Alistair's ancestry was an open secret.

"Ah, indeed, I forgot. His Majesty is Elven blooded. No wonder he has such little time for the powers that be of the Chantry." The Chief Enchanter's thin lips twitched somewhat and one of his hands, which were always gloved, flexed. "What a strange background… One wonders how well he carries it…" He mused almost to himself.

"Oh Alistair Theirin seems to muddle along satisfactorily enough. He is a born survivor."

"I see." Orsino said. "In any event, mark my words, Neriya, there are interesting and challenging times ahead for us all. If I were you, I would keep in close contact with King Alistair Theirin."

* * *

"And Alistair didn't mention any of this in his recent letter?" Cullivan asked.

Neriya shook her head, "He never discusses politics… I don't either."

"Perhaps…" Cullivan hesitated, "the Chief Enchanter is right. By any account he is no fool. Sometimes I fear for you Neriya, as a mage. Sometimes I am fearful _of_ you for the same reason."

"What are you saying there, Cully?" Neriya asked tugging her undershirt over her head rather that fully unbuttoning it. "Are you telling me to keep replying to his letters by any chance?"

"If I told you not to, you would anyway Neriya so what would be the point?"

"You visit your children and I don't complain, do I?"

"If this is about your little girl…"

"What else would it be about?"

"Neriya, Neriya…" He scolded lightly.

"Alright." She crossed her arms over her chest. "There are things between Alistair and I that even go beyond our child… Things that… Among them, we made a promise to each other, Cully, and we will both honour it."


	76. Chapter 76

**Chapter 76**

_Dragon 9:37 Nublis/Drakonis Highever _

Alistair never knew what had become of the die set confiscated by the Grey Wardens more than two years ago now. It didn't matter, he was King, he was free he'd purchased a new set, very fine, just a few days ago in Highever's spring market. One of the stalls had on display several sets of die in different materials, wood, glass and stone that had immediately attracted his attention. He picked up a few holding them in his hand weighing them up finally settling on a white set that made a pleasing clack when the cubes were shaken together. "What are they made of?" He'd asked the merchant. "Bone?""Fine dentine." Said the merchant scratching his chin. He had a large spotted nose and wore a striped robe that hung from his neck in various faded hues of red, green and black.

"What does that mean?"

"Comes from a big animal… Rare."

"It could be just bone covered with some sort of varnish…" Alistair moved them speculatively between his fingers. They were heavy for their size and very smooth to the touch.

"Could be, Ser, but ain't."

"How much?"

The merchant named an exorbitant price. Alistair laughed.

"As I said," He commented sourly, "They's is rare…" And held out his hand for Alistair to return them.

Alistair offered half the named price. The merchant sighed and raised his eyes to heaven. "You Fereldans…"

"I'm sure you didn't come all this way _not_ to make a sale and insult your prospective clients…"

The merchant didn't reply but turned his bloodshot eyes to gaze drearily at the people thronging the market. In the end they split the difference and the merchant threw in a hair comb made from the same 'fine dentine' for Cosy.

On another stall Alistair bought a doll with a porcelain head and a sweet painted face for his Niamh. Bregeth had scowled at that, he'd attempted to buy something for her too but she had resisted.

* * *

Today he cupped the die in his hand and tossed them upon the hard wooden table. Sighed. A mediocre cast. Picked them up again…

Cosy had left any decisions made about the revered mother who had attempted to stab her up to him. Lily was clearly insane in the most unhappy way, she seemed to be in an almost constant state of panic and fearfulness. Someone had pointed out to him, Oswyn maybe? That if her insanity had clouded her knowledge of right or wrong this should be taken into account.

Alistair was not sure it was her judgement of right and wrong that was impaired but her fortitude. To put it bluntly she no longer had any. He had insisted on taking her to Denerim and therefore much as he may have wished to avoid her presence he was a witness to her almost constant keening, whimpering and weeping on the journey, she hardly slept at all. She was as frail as a spider web in the wind. If she was indeed the same Lily who had attempted to assist Neriya's erstwhile friend Jowan in his escape from the tower several years' ago, then at one point she must have had some pluck, some spirit. All that had been scoured out of her, what was left was a ruin of a young woman with a hollow husk of a personality.

Once in Denerim he'd asked Helena to pay her a visit. He hadn't had the heart to send Lily to Fort Drakon so he had sequestered her in a property in the city with one guard. The young mage had returned the next day with a quizzical look on her round face.

"Aeonar?" She'd asked.

"That's her story…" He'd replied.

Helena had tilted her head to one side. "Does it not resemble something more familiar?"

"You tell me…" He suspected he knew very well what she meant but he wanted to hear her unbiased view so he had to avoid giving her any hints.

Helena licked her lips, "Looks like lyrium withdrawal to me, Sire." She said eventually.

"She's a revered mother, I checked, what does a revered mother…"

"Sire, why should what she apparently _is_ be more relevant that what actually ails her?"

Somehow most mages seemed to have self-confidence on tap as if it were inculcated into them at the Tower at the same time as spell-casting. Perhaps it was. Anyway, he envied them. "So you think she's ailing, Helena?"

"Yes." There was an expression of utmost sincerity on Helena's round face.

"Suffering?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Would this have affected what she did?"

"Sire—"

"Please explain."

"You want me answer a simple question with a simple answer, but… This is no simple matter. When I spoke with her started obsessing about Aeonar so in the end, after I had provided her with a calming draught, I asked her where it was…"

"And what did she reply?"

"It was like a riddle… She said it was everywhere and anywhere…"

Alistair shrugged.

Helena lowered her voice, "And then she said it was _inside_ her."

"Inside her?" He glanced at the healer, this was interesting. Even as King he had no indication as to Aeonar's physical location any more than he did as an apprentice Templar. Perhaps there was a reason for that.

"Yes. Her precise words were: 'Aeonar is in my blood now and I will carry it with me wherever I go, especially in my dreams…'" Helena paused. "I think on a certain level she comprehends what was done to her."

"What would you mean?" He said frowning a little.

"Sire, they fed her lyrium, maybe other things as well… Either she was unaware of this, at least initially, or it was forced on her. Perhaps both in due course. I would also say she was living in fear for a considerable amount of time."

"She looks in a bad state to me…" Alistair admitted reluctantly.

"I believe she's permanently impaired. I can give her potions to calm her down and help her sleep, keep her on an even keel and to help her over the worst of it but I doubt she will ever be the person she was before… To answer your previous question, Sire … You must have seen more than your fair share of people in the final stages of lyrium addiction, as have I." The young healer added.

Alistair nodded grimly.

"Would you say they had free choice or all their faculties?"

He hesitated. "Not really… No."

"Well then…"

"What do I do with her, Helena?" He was almost pleading.

Helena lowered her head, "Sire, I am just a mage…"

How Alistair wished he could bow out of things in just that way sometimes. Things were so much simpler when they could be solved mainly by taking a sword to them.

But instead here he was: 'Sire this' and 'Sire that' and all the damned responsibility in this corner of Thedas, every difficult decision heaped upon him… Well, him and Anora… But still…

* * *

Back in Highever, Alistair who was today wearing a sleeveless black velvet doublet with the two Mabaris embroidered in red on the upper left hand side over a blouson with flared sleeves decorated with thin vertical lines in black and silver, flexed his shoulders as he collected the die simply recalling that thought. Black was not a colour he usually favoured but the occasion demanded some sobriety, he thought.

He'd solved the problem in the end, he'd thought of writing to Mage Vallet for her advice but as soon as he'd started thinking through what he should tell her, the answer was staring him in the face.

A few days after Mother Boann had approached him asking after Cosy and Lily's wellbeing. It didn't take much imagination to put two and two together. Now she had an assistant to help her every day, plus a guard popping a few times a week to check everything was all right.

_A__eonar dwells inside Lily and the taint inside me, who is the most fortunate? And why do we always pay so dearly for what we do for love?_

He needed to set those kinds of negative thoughts aside, especially now. Truthful though they may be but they weren't either productive or helpful. _Look to the future, Alistair…_

The tug of war with the Divine continued but every day that passed seemed to find both sides more willing to accept an uneasy stalemate, at least for the time being.

Alistair cast the die again. Better this time. Far better.

The first day celebrations had actually been held on first day this year and seemed to be significantly merrier than those of the preceding year. Of course, as regards Cosy's condition he'd had to be especially tactful and diplomatic with Anora but his wife had come around in the end. It was a question of deploying the utmost respect and affection whilst pointing out to each woman that she had her own talents and ambitions and that there was no overlap between their different spheres of power.

As a child he'd once seen a juggler in Redcliffe's main square tossing silver coloured skittles high in the blue sky at the same time as he walked warily over a wire strung between two posts. That was almost exactly what it was like.

He'd worn green, Cosy grey velvet slashed with silver satin and Anora blue silk. He'd taken care to dance with each of them the same amount of times and to keep them both amused. Of course tongues were wagging all around them, but who cared, he was a King's bastard, a mage's get, a half breed even (although most did not know about those two last, fortunately), and tongues had wagged around him all his life.

He'd gotten used to it… Hardened.

As for Cosy and Anora, they were tough girls themselves, accustomed to being the centre of attention, both for good and ill and bore it with grace displaying the most exquisite courtesy towards each other in public. He would rather make a clean breast of it; get it all out in the open. It would be healthier for everyone concerned, he thought.

"They'd scratch each other's eyes out if they could…" Fergus had warned him dourly looking at the two apparently exchanging pleasantries on the other side of the Great Hall, but then Fergus was always seeking to make trouble so Alistair very politely ignored him, rolled his eyes at Oswyn who was loitering nearby, took another sip of his drink and finalised the arrangements with the Teyrn for both him, Bregeth and Niamh to be at Highever at the critical time.

* * *

And here they were, the critical time was growing ever nearer, a matter of days, in fact.

But first there were other things to do, a cleansing of sorts… He wondered how much longer he'd be waiting…

Three throws later and he heard voices outside the door. He stood and scooped the die up in his hand hiding them in a pocket in his breeches.

The door creaked open and a gangly youth who seemed to be only in his late teens with unruly shoulder-length brown hair wearing a mages robes came through clutching a tall pile of books documents with some writing materials precariously balanced on top.

The young man was followed by someone else so tiny that only the top of their red-haired head was visible above the table between them.

The youth seemed relieved to put his stuff on the table his rather prominent Adam's apple bobbed nervously, then he glanced at Alistair bowed his head briefly and removing a thick tome from the pile, turned immediately to the seat next to him and to his companion. Alistair acknowledged the bow with a faint smile and remained standing at ease with hands clasped behind his back.

There was a thud and a young female red-headed dwarf took the seat next to the youth "I do hope you'll forgive me for not bowing or… Curtseying. We… Connor and I regret keeping Your Majesty waiting. I trust you will find it in your graciousness to forgive us… Our journey here was not as easy as it might have been."

Alistair smiled kindly at her. "Dagna… It's been a long time. I understand you've made quite an impression in the Circle…"

"Ah… Well that's probably because everybody in the Circle and by that I mean…" Dagna was wearing a long blue robe, clearly the wrong colour to be confused with a mages robe but of the same cut and fashion. She fussed about it arranging it on the chair. "all three hundred and twenty-seven mages, the one hundred and ten mage apprentices plus the seventy-one sundry staff, the six hundred and eighty one Templars, the…"

Connor touched her gently on the arm, Dagna jumped, hesitated for a moment and then said, "I'm gabbling, your Majesty, please…Well, anyway, in summary, it's because everyone is so nice to me there."

"You can call me Alistair, Dagna, we've known each other long enough… And you too, Connor, we're family, really, after all…" He said focussing for a moment on the youth, "But anyway, nice though they may be, I'm certain that isn't the full story… What do you think, Connor?"

Connor blinked rapidly a few times, glanced at Dagna, turned to Alistair took a breath and said, "Your— Alistair, I think Mistress Dagna here has made an invaluable contribution to the Circle's overall knowledge in Ferelden, thanks mainly to her innovative perspective on magic and its practitioners, and her systematic approach to…"

Dagna snorted, "I think that's a polite way of saying I'm a dwarf…"

"Mistress Dagna…" Said Connor, "We've discussed this, it really isn't… You know how much I admire you and the other day, why even Chief Enchanter Irving said…"

Dagna propped her chin on one hand and let the fingers of the other drum on the table, her eyes glazing over. Observing this, Connor stopped in mid flow and rolled his own eyes at Alistair as if to say "What is the point?"

Alistair sat down opposite them, turned to one side, laced his fingers, and extended his legs crossing them at the ankle. "I understand you've been to Trevinter, Connor, what was that like?"

Connor's demeanour changed noticeably. He sat up a little straighter. "Well, you see…"

"Mage Guerrin came back from Trevinter with six diaries full of handwritten notes. He is currently meant to be condensing this content into some form of coherent narrative or commentary, unfortunately, I have seen little evidence of that…" Interjected Dagna.

From this exchange it became clear to Alistair that although Dagna's tendency to gush and her enthusiasm seemed to remain undimmed, part of her personality had matured, and she had acquired an air of seriousness that had not been apparent before. Little wonder, he thought, as he knew from experience if you dealt with mages daily, it was either assert yourself or let them overcome you.

"Dagna," hissed Connor, as if he had forgotten Alistair were there and could hear him, "I've told you, it's…" He cleared his throat and turned to address Alistair directly. "It's difficult, Alistair, very complicated, everything there was so… Different… I… My mother…"

Alistair held up a hand. "I understand." He did in a way. Of course he could not discern the actual events which lay behind this reticence, but Connor was blushing and blinking and looked terribly discomforted, possibly even ashamed… _You and me both…_

"Alistair, mage Guerrin, I think we need to make some progress here… I understand you have some other pending concerns, Alistair, and I'm sure you want to get this out of the way as soon as possible…"

Connor removed several quills from a wooden box and began to pare the ends carefully with a small knife.

"I do actually."

Dagna nodded in response and pulled out something from a pocket in her left sleeve, she unfolded it gently and placed it on her nose. "Forgive me Alistair…"

"Mistress Dagna has read so much it has affected her eyesight and she requires a corrective…" Explained Connor looking up from the quills.

"The harsh light here on the surface and Mages' dreadful handwriting don't help" Dagna added. "But mage Guerrin's is not, in truth, _quite_ so bad…"

Connor flashed a quick smile at Alistair.

"Connor?" Asked Dagna, the young mage extracted some parchments from the pile of materials which he flattened on the table before him and a clay inkwell which he uncapped, "Ready Mistress." He chirped dipping a quill in the ink.

They began.

* * *

Alistair explained how Neriya and he had first met Morrigan and then how they had both woken up in Flemeth's abode following Ostagar. Connor's quill flew across the parchment with the scratching sounds of birds' claws on dried branches or mice running behind wainscoting and Dagna cleared her throat.

"Yes?" Alistair asked.

"So one moment you were both at the top of the Tower of Ishael and the next thing you knew you woke up in this woman Flemeth's hut in the Kocari Wilds?"

"That is correct…" He replied. "I woke before Neriya… She was more seriously injured… I think one or both of them healed her as they had me. For that much, I am still grateful. But… I was… Traumatized by what they told me had happened. Morrigan was chillingly detached when she told me about the rout and its aftermath. Liked her even less after that. The old lady seemed… Addled. She would say the strangest things…"

"How many days had passed?"

Alistair frowned. "I don't well know… and I have no real way of knowing, even now. They told me it was three for me. Neriya was under two days more."

"And how did they explain rescuing you both from the Tower?"

"Morrigan told Neriya in frivolous tones that her mother had changed into an eagle and plucked us from its summit… She then went on to say, apparently, that she didn't understand why her mother had chosen to save us… That if it were up to her she would have saved Cai—, the king, I mean."

Dagna and Connor exchanged a long look.

"So we have healing, transformation and precognition all in one package." Mused Dagna.

"I understand that is not common."

"No it isn't." Said Connor.

"Skin or shape changing, transformation, transfiguration, alteration or metamorphosis at will, call it what you wish, in itself is one of the rarest forms of magic. Why, in the tower we currently have only two mages with this facility. Well, one to be precise, the other is still an infant. As for the circles outside Ferelden but excluding Trevinter…" Dagna's eyes behind her lenses went slightly unfocused she appeared to be counting. "There are barely a handful altogether and that has always been the case, insofar as I know."

"There could be several reasons for that." Added Connor.

"Firstly, because, as of itself, it is rare…"

"Secondly, because it is difficult to apprehend such mages." Connor supplemented, Dagna nodded in assent.

"Thirdly— it is a form of magic, much like blood magic, that is inherently inimical to Chantry doctrine—" Dagna explained.

"And to most popular superstitions. Meaning that its practitioners, if apprehended alive, are more likely to be slain on the spot rather than taken to the Circle…"

"Fifthly, it seems to be inherited, goes in bloodlines, not learned, it cannot be acquired or if it can, only with exceeding difficulty." Said Dagna.

"It may well be that you are either born with it or you are not, is what Mistress Dagna means. Would you say there is a sixthly?" Connor asked her.

Dagna shrugged, "If there is it would be that it is difficult to _keep_ such mages in confinement against their will. And they do not tend to be particularly talkative, either."

Alistair looked at them both, "Morrigan could…" he said.

"Morrigan?" Asked Connor.

"Could change her form. I saw her do so several times… But… It was not anything she ever cared to discuss."

"She was evasive about it?"

"Oh definitely."

"That is the usual way with such mages. Please list the forms you saw her take…" Suggested Dagna.

"Spider that was the most common one. Appropriately." Alistair just could not resist the temptation to add the word, "Bear, and uh… a swarm, don't know whether it was flies or bees or what… I hated that one. Kept well away."

"No eagles?" Asked Connor.

"Not that I saw. Not that I heard from any of the others…"

"Dragon?"

"A Dragon? Is that even possible, Dagna?" Dagna nodded silently. "Certainly not. No."

Alistair went on to give a very brief summing up of most of their campaign against the Blight and explained how Neriya had handed Morrigan the Grimoire that they had found in Irving's chambers in the Tower.

"So she requested your assistance in killing this Flemeth?"

"That is the case, yes, according to her interpretation of the Grimoire she was nothing but a vessel that Flemeth was readying to later take over so she wanted us to kill her mother for her."

"How did Morrigan say Flemeth would do that? I mean take her… body." Dagna asked.

"She didn't explain."

"I see, and, in any event, you refused?"

"We did, yes. Neriya and I were in agreement on this, insofar as we could see Flemeth had assisted us… Furthermore we had a Blight to quell… We couldn't go charging off cutting old ladies' throats at someone's say so, even if we liked and believed Morrigan, which we didn't… It was out of our way and we had bigger, more important things to do."

"And Morrigan took this how?"

"Badly of course… She was extremely unpleasant telling us we had let her down that we were no friends of hers… Neriya might have been somewhat put out by the histrionics but as far as I was concerned… Pah! Really, I couldn't care less…" Alistair shrugged, "She wanted some dirty work done, she should jolly well do it herself."

"So you never got hold of this Grimoire Morrigan said Flemeth had in her possession, the one that she said was the real one?"

"That's right, Connor. Never so much as set eyes on the ruddy thing, if it even existed… Good riddance, too…"

Then he got to the eve of the final in Radcliffe before the final push to relieve Denerim and summarized what Riordan had told them.

There was silence for a while. Alistair suddenly missed his die, wished he could have something to do with his hands. He clasped them behind the back of his head and waited for their questions.

"So you were told that whomever slayed the Archdemon would perish in turn?" Dagna asked cautiously.

"Yes."

"That is… Is not known outside of the Grey Wardens is it?"

"I don't think it is generally, no." Said Alistair looking at Connor, lowering his eyebrows. "I would ask you both to keep it that way…" They nodded.

"Of course." Dagna said firmly.

"How did you react?"

"I, well… I was very still that I recall. As Riordan continued speaking Neriya slipped her hand into mine. Neither of us really heard much more of what he had to say… By the time he'd sent us to our rooms to 'rest', he said, she was gripping my hand so hard her knuckles were white. I think we were both shaking by then, too. You have to understand, we were very young, we'd been through a lot already. This was… Unexpected. If we'd know from the beginning we might have been more resigned to it…"

"You don't need to justify anything, Alistair." Connor said really quickly. "We understand, we do… Don't we?" He said looking at Dagna.

"Of course we do." Dagna replied, for a moment Alistair thought he caught an expression of extreme dismay on her face, but she appeared to gather herself quickly. "My admiration for those of your order has suddenly increased… Exponentially" She added. "Many of my people… It is much the same with the Legion."

"Indeed."

"Well then…"

"It was obvious that Neriya… Wanted to be comforted, but at that moment, I really didn't have it in me. I needed to think. Get the buzzing out of my head. Take stock. Perhaps even get a little drunk, though Maker knows on what… She respected that so after giving her a quick kiss I went to my bedroom alone."

He then went on to describe how Neriya had approached him later that evening with Morrigan's proposal. Again there was that awkward silence in the room as both mage and the scholar digested this information. Alistair knew his cheeks were flushed; his hands weren't too steady either.

Dagna cleared her throat. "Incarnation… That is what she proposed metempsychosis…"

"In Trevinter it is dubbed paligenesia." Connor blurted.

Dagna turned brusquely in her seat and glared up at him over the top of her lenses. "You need to draw up those notes, Mage." She said sternly. She turned back to Alistair folding her ruddy squarish hands on the table before her. "It means, transmigration of the soul. It is an extremely old belief founded on the concept that the soul or spirit is distinct from the body or the flesh and can therefore, under certain conditions, travel from one to the other…"

"Transformation magic…"

"Is superficially similar, but _not_ the same, Alistair. The difference being that there is one body that changes and the change is temporary. And there is still some dispute as to whether the transformation actually takes place in a physical sense or is some form of delusion… Metempsychosis, on the other hand, involves a movement of the spirit from one pre-existing carnal form to another, usually on corporeal death… Sometimes in other circumstances. It is what Morrigan seemed to be implying that Flemeth would eventually do to her…"

For a moment he felt as though he was back in the Chantry attempting to digest some abstruse lecture on an obscure theological point. "And what the Grey Wardens believe leads to the destruction of the Archdemon... Its soul is displaced." He said tentatively.

"Exactly."

There was another pause. Connor bent over his parchment scribbling energetically while Dagna gazed at Alistair. "It is on occasions like this that I am very happy that as a dwarf my beliefs are limited to ancestor worship and the Stone." She murmured. Her voice picked up, "So you did this." she said.

_Time to come clean._ He looked her in the eyes. "I did, yes."

"And when the time came and you slew the Arch—"

"We both survived. Yes. And just to make things crystal clear…" Alistair leaned forward, he put some urgency in his voice. "_I_ delivered the killing blow… I'd almost hoped… I understand Neriya may have told it differently, but it was _me_. It is all on me."

Connor glanced up from the parchment the quill frozen in his hands. Dagna flinched and moved her gaze to the grain of the wooden table as if its whorls and coruscations could tell her something.

Alistair eventually broke the silence. "Please underline that." He instructed Connor. Connor nodded and scraped the quill over the parchment.

"Tell us what happened that night." Dagna said finally.

"I wrote it down…" Alistair said tentatively, "It's a bit… Well dramatic, but I thought it was the best thing to do given how quickly recollections can fade…"

Dagna nodded.

"I can read it to you…" He retrieved a few pages from his sleeve.

"That would be most kind." Said Dagna.

* * *

Alistair cleared his throat and began: "I was determined not to give her the satisfaction of undressing me or seeing me undress so I went early to the room prepared for our assignation, removed my clothes and lay on the bed. I felt a fool and sick to my stomach. I also feared that Neriya and I had been the dupes of some cruel practical joke that played upon both our love and our deepest fears of premature separation. Everything else was a blur that evening in Redcliffe, Neriya and I had been told the end of our quest would almost certainly end in the death of one or both of us; after all we had been through, after… I tried not to give in to self-pity.

"The room was cold and plain, one bed, just one brazier, no help.

"But come she did eventually just after half an hour. Morrigan looked at me from the door and smiled. A cruel smile, spiked with callousness. I said something then to the effect of 'Let's get this over with.'

"Still smiling she shrugged, turned her back to me and disrobed. She then turned to face me naked and swaying her hips approached the bed, that self-satisfied smile still playing on her lips. The Morrigan I thought I had known hardly smiled at all, this one could not stop smirking. It seemed to me that it was the grin of a cat knowing that the mouse it had chased for so long was now definitely cornered."

Alistair looked up from the page. "Sorry got a bit carried away there…"

"I was younger then and far more inexperienced so I did not anticipate how my body would react. I had almost hoped I would not be able to perform, but in my confused state I could not seem to work out which humiliation would be worse, the humiliation of participating in this loathsome act or the more simple humiliation of sexual failure.

"There is a joke I'd heard bandied about in the barracks, it says that a man does not have sufficient blood to keep his head and his genitals working at the same time. As with most jokes there is some truth to that, I think, and I was unable to adequately resolve my feelings or thoughts on the matter in the little time I had available.

"She came to the bed and climbed on me. She put me in her. She handled that part of me as if it were a thing, an object, just there to be used. Clamped her thighs around mine.

"There is a deep feeling of warmth, satisfaction or even relief when one first enters a lover one desires. That was entirely absent here, the room was cold I was cold, she felt cold over and around me. It was as if the whole world had suddenly become suffused with ice and would never be warm again.

"Eyes closed, she began to move. She did this for some time…"

Alistair broke off, "I… Well, as it was happening… It was almost as if I were a spectator to the act rather than taking part in it. As if I refused to acknowledge what was happening. So I watched her ride… Me… but felt nothing… Simply nothing but that cold inside and out."

Neither Dagna nor Connor chose to comment so after a few beats he lowered his eyes to the scroll and continued to read, "Then she leaned forward and placed her hands on my chest to assist her balance."

Alistair gestured, "Two point of ice, here and here." And then, after a brief pause, he continued.

"This enraged me more than anything else. Anger surged through me. That she should treat me as a buffoon, handle me as if I were a thing, exploit me as a mere seed-bearer, was bad enough, but to also use me as a prop… I imagined sweeping her arms from under her, throwing her off me into the corner of the room, jumping after her and kicking her as she lay prone, taking a grim satisfaction in the dull contact my feet made with her body, until she whimpered and begged me to stop...

"For some reason, perhaps I had stirred under her, she picked this up.

"She stopped moving, her eyes opened, they were more golden now it seemed to me, her lips pouted wetly and she looked down at me, her hair obscuring most of her face as she did so. 'Alistair, I can use this, give me more.'

Alistair cleared his throat, "I was younger then but I realised I had made a mistake. Mages prey on the mind, it is their hunting ground, and the more inclined towards evil they are the more they ransack that estate. The Templars had given me some training in mental discipline and over the last few months I had had many opportunities to develop it in the field, in battle and so I used it here, I refused to look, to imagine, I closed my eyes, I blocked my mind off, attempting to separate it from my body.

"I think it was the right thing to do. I heard her sigh and felt her resume her motion.

"I do not like to think how long we were at this but eventually she moaned, spasmed and was still. My body, as if in thrall to hers, matched this and I came.

"She looked down at me with her gold/green eyes, gravely, almost as if with pity, and then dismounted. She collected her clothes, dressed quickly and left the room without another word.

"That was the last time I ever saw Morrigan, if I were to see her again, Maker assist me, I swear I would strike her dead on the spot."

After a very long moment Alistair looked up from his folios, "That's all I wrote." Connor was still scribbling away but a look of sympathy swept over Dagna's features. Alistair felt a swell of gratitude towards her.

"I wrote this down some time ago but haven't really read it since then, before today. I'm a busy man… and, er, I don't like to think about what happened that night over much… I hope now to put it to rest somewhat. Those were dark days, very dark days."

Dagna nodded.

He arranged the folios neatly, smoothed them out, rolled them up tightly and slipped them back into his sleeve. "These are going on the fire this evening."

Connor looked up from his writing. Alistair folded his hands over each other.

"After that, I left the room, crept down to the kitchen. Kindled a fire from the ashes in the hearth there and heated some water. Took it to the tub used by the servants, found a tablet of soap…

"That tub was probably the same one they used to dunk me in as a child, partly to get me clean and partly as a punishment... I was pretty wild and would get into all kind of scrapes... It seemed so large to me then...

"Now I could hardly fit in it in comfort. My knees were almost against my chin... I'd also picked up a bristle brush from the kitchen and I used it to scrub myself hard anywhere she might have touched me… I remember wishing that I were a child again being scrubbed clean by Cook or one of the maids... Untainted, innocent..."

_Why am I boring them with this? He thought suddenly... They are not interested in who I might be or my mawkish self-pitying wishes but what I did._ His left hand strayed to the back of his head but he stopped the gesture before it got there...

"Neriya found me eventually still sitting in that tub after about two hours, by then the water was cold and scummy. And yet I still imagined I could smell that bitch on me…

"Helped me get dry. Ushered me up to bed next to her. We didn't talk about it what was left of that night and I don't think either of us slept. When she brought the subject up a few days later I gave her a non-committal reply. But it lay between us…" His voice trailed off.

Another pause.

"I think we've covered the essential points." Dagna summed up breaking the silence. Again she appeared to be looking at him with some compassion, even through those severe eyeglasses of hers. Connor was still stooped over his parchments.

"Well," Alistair said, "that really is all there was to it..."

"When is the... campaign?" Dagna enquired.

"After the event, two months' time, early spring." Alistair replied briskly and leant forward and locked his hands around his knee,

"Good time." Murmured Connor as he was putting the finishing touches to his record.

"I think so," Alistair replied, he was grinning, but it wasn't a grin of happiness more a rictus of pure relief that the ordeal was over. "Can we go through what we agreed again?" He asked looking at Dagna.

"Well yes," She replied folding her lenses and replacing them in the pocket from which she had extracted them, for a moment her eyes blinked vulnerably, "No other copy in Fereldan shall be made. I will encode the document with mage Guerrin's assistance and keep it in my possession. Should anything happen to me Connor here will take charge of it. We shall also ensure that it is translated into dwarven runic and deposited in your Memory in the Shaperate. Then it shall be passed to an envoy of Keeper Lanaya, and the Dalish in turn will incorporate it into their lore using their tongue. After this the original will be returned to you in Denerim for you to dispose of as you see fit..."

"Thank you."

"Thank you, your Majesty, thank you for your trust and frankness. This will give us..." She glanced myopically at Connor, "much to think about and work on... Should we come up with anything..."

"You will be informed immediately," Added Connor collecting his quills and depositing them in the wooden writing box with a hollow clatter, "of course."

"Of course." Agreed Dagna.

"And naturally you're accepting Fergus' hospitality and staying for a further two days before departing for the Tower."

"Correct." Said Dagna, "and should we in that interval have any more questions or doubts..."

"Then, you'll put them to me. I understand." He launched himself to his feet, somehow he felt lighter in himself, refreshed, more at ease than he had for a while, as if he had been involved in an unpleasant but equally unavoidable brawl and now suddenly it were all behind him and he had awoken unscathed.

He paced towards the door behind Dagna and Connor and opened it almost with a flourish.

* * *

The first thing he set his eyes on in the anteroom was Cosy who seated in a high backed chair, her hair gathered severely in a knot, her sea green eyes coming alive when she saw him. She immediately set aside her embroidery and attempted to get to her feet.

For a very brief moment Alistair wondered why she was having this difficulty but suddenly all the details of his current stage in life came flooding back to him.

Due to her condition she had taken to wearing gowns lately, this one was deep blue, especially made for her in fine lamb's wool with delicate silver thread detailing round the wide cuffs and décolletage. Shaking his head at his own distractedness he crossed the room towards her in barely three quick strides and, gently supporting her by the arms, helped her stand up.

As she did so the proud swell of her belly rose between them.

His child. Her child. Their child.

A future.

Alistair just about stopped himself from laying a protective hand over it, an intimate gesture best left for their time alone later, he thought. As it was he bent slightly forward and kissed her on the forehead.

But something more seemed to be expected of him, for a moment the small room was brimming with silent anticipation. Lawler met his eyes and was giving him his usual wolfish grin over Cosy's shoulder, behind his back he could feel Dagna and Connor's gaze on him and somehow he knew they all wanted more from him, that they were willing him on.

And then Cosy herself voiced it: "Is that all I'm getting, Alistair Theirin? I have put myself to the trouble of carrying your child around these months past in exchange for nothing but a lukewarm kiss?" She asked with mock tartness.

In reply he took half a step back, tilted his head, narrowed his hazel eyes and gave her a crooked grin.

Magic, he thought.

There was magic in the world every day but it was not what folks usually described as magic involving spells, chanting, mana and mages... Friendship and affection were magic and could redeem even the vilest of lost souls... Love, life and procreation were magic also.

Cosy leaned forward on the balls of her feet and pulled him towards her. Her gloved left hand rested on the nape of his neck, the other authoritatively circling his waist. He submitted gladly, closing his eyes.

As her tongue reached beyond his lips and began exploring his mouth, he fancied he felt their child moving between them.

Magic...

**THE END**

_Author's Note:_

_This is the first thing of any length I have written._

_Sincerest thanks to Addai, Esbatty, Lady De Modred, Naomis, Gaspode, Wayne and others who have helped me with their comments and encouragement. Not forgetting all those reading silently…_

_Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome and now more than ever. Especially since have a follow-up in mind, working title: The Elven Princess and Other Stories, so I really would like to avoid making all the same mistakes as here, especially when there are always plenty of new ones available…_

_Clariana_


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